


Sunspots

by Etienne_Bessette



Series: Striations [2]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic
Genre: Chronic Pain, Evolving Tags, Featuring Doc as Actually A Doctor, Gray Jedi, Internalized Homophobia, Jedi Knight Katsulas, Jedi are really repressed, Jedi rebelling against the Jedi Code, Kira is the Galaxy's Most Phenomenal Friend, Lots of sexual tension, M/M, Male Homosexuality, Male-Female Friendship, Masturbation, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, References to Homophobia in the Star Wars Universe, Scourge is 100 Percent Sith, Scourge is a complete ass, Scourge is actively making it worse, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Spoilers for Jedi Knight storyline, accidentally falling in love sort of, fighting that ends in wall pinning and kisses, there is no redemption arc, traumatic flashback
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-01
Updated: 2017-10-16
Packaged: 2018-04-29 11:35:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 35,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5126018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Etienne_Bessette/pseuds/Etienne_Bessette
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Knight isn't what Lord Scourge expects. He is sentimental, compassionate, and merciful--characteristic trappings of weak Jedi, not of someone with the strength to destroy the Emperor. But he is also passionate, angry, rebellious, and he shines in the Force with the intensity of a Type O star. The Knight's full potential is untapped; his restraint needs to shatter, his passions discovered and embraced.</p><p>Scourge thinks he knows exactly how to accomplish that.</p><p>It helps that when Scourge is near the Knight, he can remember clearly what sunlight used to feel like on his skin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I started this out of pure indignation over the intense heteronormativity endemic in the core SWtoR game. The fact that there appears to be NO fic pairing a male Jedi Knight with Lord Scourge is just more insult upon injury. So I took it upon myself to rectify that.
> 
> And what was going to be a really short sparring session scene that ends in angry kisses turned into something much bigger as I started to actually _think_ about Lord Scourge's character motivations. 
> 
> So much of Lord Scourge's character isn't presented or discussed in the game, most likely because it's all from the Knight's perspective, and Scourge is very reserved with what he actually tells about himself. Most specifically concerning the ritual of immortality and its 'side effects'. I have attempted to make this story as compliant with the book Revan (where Scourge was introduced) as possible. From the book, we know that the true side effect of the immortality ritual is constant, unending _agony_. After a long enough time, this will actually affect a person's brain chemistry, to the point of 're-wiring' their nervous system, particularly in the section of the brain that processes emotion. 
> 
> It's not that the ritual magically shut off Scourge's ability to feel. It's that he's deadened his own senses out of self-preservation.
> 
> I felt this was important to include and develop, so this will be a multi-part story told in snippets throughout Scourge's travels with my Jedi Knight. It's as canon compliant as I can make it, with some differences simply due to Knight Katsulas's personality.

The Jedi are weak. Their very nature collars their power, blunts their fangs, dulls their claws. They praise compassion devoid of reason, peace crafted from _emptiness_. This alone is enough to earn Scourge’s disdain. 

That they choose to live as husks is what earns Scourge’s _contempt_.

That they dare to call it strength is what earns Scourge’s _wrath_.

Revan and Surik are different. There is a _passion_ in their hearts, a passion tempered and weaponized by experience, power, and focus. Scourge likes them. He has learned much from Revan over the past three years. They are not friends, but Revan is the closest he has to one. As a Vision slashes through the chaos of combat and brands his retinas with the image of an unfamiliar young Jedi standing over the Emperor’s body, Scourge thinks, _But why not_ Revan _? Revan possesses knowledge of both Light and Dark._ Revan _is not weak. Revan wields greater innate power than anyone I have ever seen!_

But clearly, it is not enough. Scourge has foreseen their failure, and he has just now foreseen the one who will succeed. He knows what must be done.

As Scourge slams his lightsaber between Surik’s shoulderblades, cauterizing her scream before it can even leave her windpipe, he thinks that the strange Jedi from his vision will surely have a great darkness within him if he is to surpass even Revan’s and the Exile’s combined strengths. 

He kneels and weaves his lies like synthsilk around the Emperor’s eyes, knowing that the sacrifice had been well worth it, for now all he must do is _wait_. Only days later, the Emperor’s ritual stops time and all of Scourge’s passions _flatline_ beneath an onslaught of unending agony. The world goes horribly dead. All he can think amidst the pain is, _I had better not be left waiting for long, Jedi._

He waits for three hundred years.

#

The Jedi is not what he expects. Scourge recognizes his face instantly enough, and there _is_ darkness knotted in his core, but not nearly _enough_ of it. Light radiates through the Jedi’s force signature like a Type O star, but the Emperor is a black hole. This young man standing behind the flickering force field cannot possibly defeat the Emperor as he is now. He will need to collapse his restraints and shed his beloved Code; the resulting shockwave will be felt and seen throughout the galaxy, Scourge knows, as powerful as any supernova. Scourge will be there to ensure it happens.

 _But it was a_ Jedi _you saw,_ Scourge reminds himself as he walks away from the confused Knight, having exchanged only a handful of cryptic sentences for bewildered responses. _A Jedi brilliant with light. Not a_ fallen _Jedi. Nor a Sith._

But the Jedi are weak. 

Scourge feels as though he’s missing a vital clue. But no matter how long he meditates, he can find no answers. 

#

For the first time since receiving the vision three hundred years ago, Scourge doubts himself. He looks up at the figure of the human Knight suspended in a kolto tank and studies him carefully. Every detail matches the appearance of the Jedi in Scourge’s vision: human, male, small-framed, warm brown skin, a beard neatly trimmed around his chin and mouth, black hair cut on the longer side of short save for a thin braid in front of his right ear _(why does he wear that? He is not a Padawan learner, he is a Knight)_. Were his eyes open, they would hold the same color and warmth as tarnished steel.

It is undeniably the same Jedi, unless he has a twin somewhere who also happens to be a Jedi Knight with the same preferences in personal grooming. Scourge actually considers the likelihood for a minute. 

This Knight confronted the Emperor, yes, but it had all been _wrong_ from the start. His vision had not shown them in the heart of the Emperor’s Fortress, nor had it shown the female Jedi who had fought at the Knight’s side. Scourge’s vision had shown the Emperor in a fresher body--not his current horror, so corroded from the dark side that soiled gauze has fused to its decaying flesh where skin should be. 

Wrong time. Wrong place. _Wrong._

So when the Knight had challenged the Emperor, of course he had lost. 

But Scourge had _felt_ the Knight’s strength firsthand when they’d fought. The Force blazes within him even more fiercely than it had in Revan. 

Yet, the Jedi has failed, and now the Emperor has leashed the young Knight’s mind to his will. 

 _But it was_ his face _I saw in my vision! How can this be?_

Scourge has waited for so long. He can wait a little longer to see what happens.

#

When the Jedi does finally snap free from the Emperor’s control, all of Scourge’s doubt flakes away like sunspots, leaving only blinding certainty. He knows what he must do. After three hundred years of waiting, the moment to _act_ has finally arrived.

Scourge thinks of Surik, the Exile, who had needed proof of Scourge's dedication in freeing Revan. She had not been a fool, and neither is this Knight. With Surik, he'd had the luxury of time. Now, he has only _minutes_ at most to earn the Knight's trust.

Scourge thinks back to his duel with the Knight, before the distant voices of the rest of the Jedi assault team had laid open his words for the lies they’d been. The Knight had stared calmly up the length of his blade at Scourge, unwavering. The saberlight reflecting in his eyes had reminded Scourge of the skies over Dromund Kaas: black-violet scarring through steel grey. “Of _course_ I know it’s a trap,” the Knight had snapped. “This entire debacle was _obviously a trap_. You may as well have broadcast ‘Welcome, Jedi, This Is A Trap’ in _Basic_.”

“Then you are a _fool_ , Jedi, to come willingly and knowingly,” Scourge had spat back in response, disbelief and contemptuous indignation staining his tone.

The Knight had shifted one shoulder in a dismissive shrug. “Probably.” Then his voice had hardened to match the steel in his eyes and the roiling _fury_ that Scourge had sensed in his heart. “But I don’t abandon those who need me.”

It had been exactly the sort of inane Jedi _drivel_ that Scourge so _despises_. But when the Knight had said them, the words had been _personal_ , not empty, rote platitudes. Scourge had felt the sting of them in the back corners of his mouth, agonizingly exquisite. 

 _I don’t_ **_abandon_ ** _those who need me._

Scourge thinks back to that moment now, and he knows exactly what to do.

#

The chagrian trooper is the laser-happy sort, but Scourge finds that he’s possessed of a pragmatism that would have made him an exemplary Imperial officer, if he’d only had the fortune to be born human and in Empire-controlled space. When Scourge frees him and hands over his gear, the trooper stares at him for a moment and asks flatly, “Why?”

“The Emperor seeks the destruction of the galaxy,” Scourge replies, equally blunt in return. “Knight Katsulas is the only one who can defeat him. He will not leave this place without his crew.” _And I need him to trust me._ After another moment, Scourge turns away and moves to open the next cell. If the trooper is foolish enough to fire on him, Scourge will kill him, and their mission will be better off for it.

The trooper does not fire.

Out of all of the Knight’s companions, it is the astromech droid that gives him the most trouble. The little heap of Jawa-rejected scrap metal tries to _electrocute_ him when he reaches for the restraining bolt. Scourge growls and tells the doctor to do it instead--which the little coward does under the unspoken threat of a lightsaber through his gut.

Scourge scythes a clear path to the hangar bay with brutal efficiency. He is the _Emperor’s Wrath_ ; no one expects his betrayal, even though _betrayal_ is how he obtained that position in the first place. No one had expected it then, either. But for all that the Academy instructors like to decorate their lips with golden speeches about _honor_ and _‘for the Empire’_ , it is _betrayal_ that marks the beginning and end of every true Sith’s career. Scourge is just smart enough to be the one doing the betraying both times. 

He cuts down officers, enlisted, technicians, and Sith alike with the same level of ease and cold detachment. Who they are doesn’t matter. Furiously snarled recriminations and desperate pleas for mercy are equally meaningless to him. There is only one truth that matters--they stand witness, therefore they must die. Once Scourge has choked the life from the last surviving guard, he lets the woman’s body drop and turns to face the blazing presence that has just entered the hangar. 

The Jedi Knight stands fifty paces away with the woman who was once a Child of the Emperor, watching with shock-widened grey eyes that narrow quickly with suspicion. The Knight’s lightsabers are ignited but pointed cautiously downwards as he tries to make sense of the scene before him. Scourge deactivates his own lightsaber and clips it to his belt--a calculated display of nonaggression. 

But the Knight does not follow suit, Scourge notes with silent approval. No, even though his decision to join Tol Braga’s strike team had been a foolhardy one, the Knight himself is no fool. He approaches slowly; the way he moves, careful and fluid, reminds Scourge of a nexu. The Knight’s twin violet sabers hum on either side of him. He glares up at Scourge for a moment, then glances carefully at each of his freed companions in turn, suspicion and worry carving lines into his young face. “Everyone alright? Not possessed? T7, what’s going on?”

 The astromech rolls forward and chirps in Binary. One of Scourge’s many implants translates the language automatically for him. <Sith = freed Jedi companions + secured hangar // Jedi companions != mind controlled>

A corner of the Knight’s mouth tugs upwards, pulling the faintest of warm, relieved smiles onto his face. A second later that smile is gone and the Knight’s gaze fixes on Scourge’s own, sharp as a scalpel. “You must be my ‘Dark Ally’,” he says.

Scourge’s brow furrows and his eyes narrow, unsure what the Knight means. He’s not the only one, either; he senses confusion rippling through the trooper, the doctor, and even the girl who had once been the Emperor’s Child. 

“What are your intentions?” the Knight continues, still staring at Scourge.

This is not what Scourge had expected. Either freeing the Knight's companions has bought him more trust than he’d calculated, or Scourge has misjudged him. 

Scourge does not misjudge people. He has been alive for more than three centuries. His initial rise to power had been accelerated by his unique ability to feed on the emotions of those around him. Even now, the Knight’s suspicion and fear sparks the brightest in the back corners of Scourge’s mouth. So why…?

“Though the Emperor seeks to conceal his true plans, I have seen them,” Scourge replies, meeting the Knight’s gaze unwaveringly. “That vision has driven me to this…” Scourge kneels in front of the Jedi Knight. Shock drowns out every other emotion in those around him; even the Knight’s eyes have gone wide and his jaw slackened as he stares down at the Sith Lord who continues to speak. “I pledge my loyalty to you. Take me to your Jedi Council on Tython, and I’ll reveal why.”

Out of all of them, it is the _doctor_ who finds his voice first. “We’re not actually considering this, right? I mean, he’s _obviously_ full of _awful._ ” He reeks of fear, confirming Scourge’s initial assessment of him. The doctor’s fear doesn’t drive him, doesn’t make him stronger; he allows it to hold him back, to cripple him. Scourge would have preferred to leave the doctor behind as a gutted corpse in his cell, but before he can go about pruning the Knight's allies, Scourge first has to prove that he’s one of them.

“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I’m with Doc,” says Carsen. “This is a trap.”

Scourge senses no fear from her, unlike with the doctor. In Carsen, there is anger and distrust. Useful emotions, when channelled well. _Good_. “I seek the save this galaxy from annihilation,” Scourge counters sharply. “Without my help, your ship will never escape. I can guide you to freedom.”

The Knight deactivates his lightsabers and clips them to his belt. “What about Master Tol Braga and the rest of the strike team?”

“If they were here, I would have freed them as well,” Scourge replies. “I do not know their location, and we have little time to discuss this.”

The Knight’s jaw tenses, but he doesn’t argue. Instead he nods stiffly. His expression is carefully neutral, but Scourge _knows_ that outward peace to be a lie. Scourge wants to find the cracks in that calm, dig his fingernails into them, and claw until the Knight shatters apart. No longer just a Knight, Katsulas would remake himself into something jagged, fierce, and even stronger out of the shrapnel. “I accept,” the Knight says simply. “Let’s get the hells out of here. Do be warned that I have no qualms against removing limbs if you betray us.”

“I’ll watch him,” the trooper says. “If he so much as twitches, I’ll shoot him." 

Scourge can _feel_ the chagrian’s unblinking stare fix on the back of his head like a sniper’s laser sight, but there are no whispers of danger from the Force. He does not smirk as he might have done a long time ago. His face is impassive. All he feels now is curiosity and impatience, both barely registering above the dull, muted agony that has become the constant background radiation of his existence.

He takes the ship’s controls and navigates them clear of the Fortress’s defense grid. The Knight’s partner--Carsen--takes the helm with an urgency that implies Scourge couldn’t have left the seat fast enough. Her suspicion is warranted, if unecessary in this particular case, and he approves of her defensive caution. 

The Knight isn’t subtle about his caution, either, though he is more... _polite_...about it than either his partner or the trooper. Knight Katsulas watches him with a cool, steady pale gaze, and is never far away the entire hyperdrive trip back to Tython. When Scourge leaves the bridge for someplace quieter and less crowded, the Knight follows as expected.

“I thank you for your trust, Jedi,” Scourge says as the Knight steps into the cargo hold. Scourge is leaning against the wall facing the door, his arms crossed leisurely over his chest. He watches as the Knight approaches until they are only three feet apart. “I might not have given mine so freely were our positions reversed.”

“Yes, well, you made a very convincing argument,” the Knight murmurs. His voice is soft but clear and audible, like Scourge’s own. “And as it happens, you aren’t the only one to have visions.” The Knight’s sharp grey eyes narrow up at him. Even though the human is small enough that the top of his dark head doesn’t even reach up to Scourge’s shoulders, his presence _radiates_ more fiercely than anyone Scourge has ever known, second only to the Emperor himself. Free him from his Council-made shackles, and he will not burst like a supernova; he could be a _quasar_ , searing brighter than billions of supermassive stars combined if only he would just _reach_ for the power that is his birthright. 

Standing so close to that blazing Force signature, Scourge is reminded of how sunlight used to feel on his skin.

Scourge’s red eyes widen at the realization, just enough for the Knight to notice and misinterpret the reason. The Knight smiles crookedly at him and says, “I was told that a ‘Dark Ally’ would aid my escape and fight against the Emperor. That would have to be you. And there’s no way you could have known that in time to invent your story as an elaborate scheme. So yes, I believe you. For now.”

Scourge does not let his surprise or his intense curiosity show on his face. His voice is calm and tinted with approval when he replies, “We will work well together.”

He tells the Knight of his vision, and of how, long ago, he worked with Revan and the Jedi Exile in an attempt to destroy his Lord Emperor. He answers the Knight’s sharp, direct questions while carefully avoiding any hint of how his alliance with Revan and Surik actually ended. All the while, Scourge notes with interest how the Knight’s gaze sometimes dips--ever so briefly--from Scourge’s eyes down to his mouth.

 _Interesting_ , Scourge thinks, and he considers how he might use this to his advantage.

#

The Knight stops him before they board the shuttle to the surface. “They won’t let you set foot on Temple grounds unless you’re unarmed.” He points at the lightsaber clipped to Scourge’s belt. “It’s enough of a miracle that the Council’s willing to speak to you at all without first putting you inside a containment field.”

“Very well,” Scourge concedes. He removes his lightsaber and hands it to the Knight. He does not think he will regret this decision, but neither does he have a choice in the matter. If anything, disarming makes him safer; the Jedi’s precious _rules_ and _sentiment_ won’t allow them to kill an unarmed enemy, particularly not one who has come willingly and peacefully among them. Scourge takes off his gauntlets, too, for good measure, so that the Jedi will be able to see his hands bare and without weapons. The sight will, he hopes, set those around him more at ease.

The Knight looks surprised as he accepts the lightsaber, clearly having expected some protest. He looks up at Scourge and opens his mouth as though to ask _‘why’_ , but no sound emerges.

“I trust that your Council is not planning to execute me?” Scourge says. 

“No, they’ll listen to you. I don’t know what they’ll do afterwards, though,” the Knight answers cautiously. He looks uncomfortable as he says it, like he’s mentally preparing for a fight...though not a fight with Scourge.

There is no flash of indignation, no instinctive defense of the Jedi Council. No ‘of course not!’ or ‘they would never!’ from the Knight’s lips. Just an unspoken acknowledgement that the Council might decide to do something that neither of them will like. 

Not entirely a good, obedient little Jedi after all, then.

#

There are only three Jedi Councillors on Tython when they arrive, but all of them are near-legends even in the Empire. And yet, the young Knight standing next to Scourge--tense and radiating nervous energy--will eclipse them _all_.

Scourge has never met Master Kaedan before, but now that he stands only a few feet from him, he finally understands how this single, lone human man was able to withstand the combined might of all six Dread Masters. The Dread Masters command _fear_. They have the power to cripple entire fleets with terror. But Kaedan doesn’t _know_ fear. Kaedan brims with barely-suppressed emotion, and all of it is righteous _fury_ , boiling rage, deep-set anger. In the years before Scourge was forced to deaden his own senses against the unending agony of the Emperor’s immortality ritual, he would have gorged himself on Kaedan’s rage until he burst with power. Scourge has not lost the ability to do so, but the art of feeding on another’s emotions no longer fills him with vicious euphoria. It is only a tool to gain strength, now.

Before the Emperor’s immortality ritual, Scourge would never have believed that power could be hollow. He would do _anything_ to feel that passion once more.

The Council believes him--or Satele Shan seems to, at least--though only because Scourge is here in _person_ , unarmed in the presence of three of the most powerful Jedi Masters alive. Were these Sith, Scourge would have feared for his own safety, and he would never have given his lightsaber to the Knight. But these are _Jedi_ , no matter how strong in the Force. They are collared by their Code, their claws sheathed. They have listened, as the Knight said they would. And they will not attack him.

The Grandmaster and the Knight are the ones he needs to convince, and he has them, though Satele Shan does not look _pleased_ about it. It helps that their own young Knight Katsulas--already a hero among them for his accomplishments--is standing right next to Scourge, safe and unharmed, with his arms crossed over his chest and a stubborn set to his jaw. 

Master Kiwiks paces uneasily when Scourge tells them all of the Emperor’s plan to genocide the entire planet of Belsavis. “We’ve kept the planet’s location secret for decades,” she says. “If the Emperor has found it…" 

Scourge wants to laugh. They have no _idea_ of the Emperor’s power, of his reach, even after everything he’s told them. Decades are nothing to the Sith Emperor. He has lived for _centuries_. He had been old even when Scourge had been a young acolyte still finding the limits to his own power on Dromund Kaas. “Once the sacrifice occurs, the Emperor’s ritual cannot be stopped. We must save Belsavis.”

Scourge hasn’t even finished speaking when he hears the snap- _fizz_ of a lightsaber igniting. He takes an instinctive step back, his right hand going to his belt where his own lightsaber would have been--but it isn’t there. The Knight has it. 

“‘ _We’?_ ” Master Kaedan growls. He holds the glowing blue tip of his saber at Scourge’s throat. “Your role in this is _over_ , Sith.”

The Knight reacts within seconds, darting in front of Scourge and snarling with both of his own saber hilts out--but not yet ignited. Kaedan does not lower his blade, but he looks down at the young Knight with surprise. “He came to you of his own volition,” the Knight snaps. “He helped me escape. He _handed_ _me his weapon_ when I asked. I will vouch for him, and regardless of whether you like it or not, _we need him._ ”

Kaedan’s face twists. He doesn’t stand down, and he looks as though he’s about to start shouting back. Katsulas is only a Knight, after all; he doesn’t have the authority to challenge the Council.

 _But he’s doing it anyway_.

“I know the Emperor’s mind,” Scourge says, drawing the three Masters’ attention. “Belsavis is not the only world in danger. We must find the others, and I cannot help you if I am imprisoned or dead.” Scourge looks at Kaedan pointedly, and then turns instead to Grandmaster Satele. “Knight Katsulas is correct. Like it or not, we need each other.”

Satele’s response is immediate and decisive. “He’s right. I can sense the truth in his words. Without his help, we are all dead.”

Only then does Kaedan stand down, deactivating his lightsaber and crossing his arms over his chest. Scourge watches him pace for a moment and wonders how much the Jedi Order has changed if someone filled with this much anger can become a High Councilor. Perhaps Scourge has not given them enough credit in recent decades.

#

In the end, Scourge and the Knight walk out of the High Council chambers free, unharmed, and with a new mission to Belsavis. Scourge is where he needs to be: at the side of the Jedi Knight from his vision. 

A few steps ahead, still in the Temple hallway on their way back to the shuttle hangar, the Knight suddenly stops. “Hey.” He produces Scourge’s lightsaber and turns to hold it out to him. “You probably want this back now.”

“We have not even left your Jedi Temple yet,” Scourge observes. He isn’t going to _object_ , of course, but he is...curious.

The Knight shrugs, still holding Scourge’s lightsaber out. “We’re allies for the time being. You aren’t going to cause trouble here. And I’d rather you be armed in case someone who hasn’t gotten the memo yet decides to attack you.” The Knight’s mouth thins with impatience. “Come on, what’s the problem?”

Scourge looks down at the Knight’s hand, at the fingerless glove he’s wearing, and has an idea. He reaches for the lightsaber with his own bare hand instead of plucking it back with the Force. His fingers press against the Knight’s own. Brief, solid contact. The Knight's fingers are warm and slightly roughened with callouses not consistent with holding a lightsaber.

Scourge senses the electric shock that jolts through the Knight’s body and watches with interest as his breath hitches through parted lips, his eyes widen, and he goes rigid. 

It’s more than mere surprise. It’s _desire_.

Scourge clips his lightsaber to his belt and continues walking towards the shuttle hangar as though he hasn’t noticed, but he’s smirking. The Knight is too distracted to see it.

Knight Katsulas needs to break before his full power can be realized. His restraint needs to shatter, his passions discovered and embraced.

And now, Scourge knows exactly how to accomplish that.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Knight Katsulas struggles with guilt and shame over his repressed desires, and Kira is a good friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is told from Katsulas's point of view, and it deals with a point I've felt very strongly about making. In the core SWTOR game, everything is heteronormative. _Everything_. (The only exceptions I can think of are a spoiler in the Agent storyline, and the vaguest of one-sided implications about Darth Silthar towards Hael in the Tatooine Imperial storyline.) Knowing Bioware as well as I do, I'm willing to bet that this was due to overruling by LucasArts. Since the first expansion (and getting the green light to drop the strict heteronormativity), Bioware's shown their typical, consistent excellence in making queer characters and relationships everywhere and normal in the world.
> 
> The problem is that the damage is already done in the core game. The combination of queer erasure and Jedi repression has done a _lot_ of psychological damage to Kat, and this is a hugely important issue. So heads-up, there's a lot of internalized homophobia (shame, guilt, fear, a gay character believing he's broken and twisted). It will get better. That's sort of the point.
> 
> Also there's masturbation at the end of this chapter. And I uh...have never posted porn on the internet before. So that's a thing that's happened. It'll get more explicit in later chapters, too, and I hope I don't embarrass myself too much with this.

An hour later, Katsulas can still feel the echo of Scourge’s fingers pressing against his own. The Sith’s hand had been large, strong, and warm, and Katsulas can’t stop imagining those fingers coiling tightly around his wrists instead, or in the hair at the back of his head, or curling around his throat with the slightest of pressure-- 

Katsulas feels like a swarm of electrified butterflies has just taken flight inside his chest. His breath catches in his throat, and his dark skin helps to hide the flush in his cheeks. Katsulas draws his knees up to his chest, curling into a smaller ball-shaped Jedi in _The Prodigal Starfish_ ’s pilot seat.

This is _stupid_.

He doesn’t have _time_ for this. The Sith Emperor is about to literally devour an entire planet as an _appetizer_. Katsulas needs to find a way to stop him without even knowing where to start or how much time he has to do it.

But he can’t begin to formulate a plan until they arrive on Belsavis several hours from now. For now, all Katsulas can do is wait and watch the striated starfield through the front viewport.

And think about Scourge’s fingers digging bruises into his skin.

Katsulas groans quietly and drops his face into his hands. 

“Hey, you okay?” It’s Kira, standing at the entrance to the bridge. She must have come to check on him, or offer to take over the controls until they reached Belsavis so that Kat could actually get a few hours of sleep in. 

Katsulas doesn’t lift his head up to answer. “I will be,” he mumbles into his fingers.

A pause, and then Kat hears Kira’s distinctive footsteps approaching. “Sorry, couldn’t make that out over the sound of you trying to weld your face to your knees--oh, hells...” Kira’s voice cuts off as she reaches the co-pilot’s seat and sees him clearly. “Damn, you’re really shaken up, aren’t you?”

At first, Kat doesn’t understand what she means. Then he realizes what he must look like: curled into a ball with his knees tucked in, face buried in his hands. Katsulas sighs and raises his head to look at her. “I’ll be alright,” he says again.

Kira is perched on the arm of the co-pilot’s seat, looking at him with open worry. When she sees that he isn’t crying or even overly distraught, she relaxes. “Gotta say, I never thought I’d wish the Empire would go back to _just_ trying to take over the galaxy.” Kira’s fingers lift as though to mimic typing a letter. “Dear Emperor, please stop trying to put the galaxy in your mouth. You don’t know where it’s been. Love, Kira.”

Katsulas laughs. “Right? So unsanitary.” For a brief moment, he forgets about how _starved_ for physical affection he is, about how he can’t even remember the last time someone other than a healer touched their bare fingers to his skin. “Even for us, this is excessive,” he says. “Remember when it was just one insane Darth trying to blow up a single planet? Man, we didn’t know how easy we had it.”

Kira rolls her eyes and grins at him. “If this is the reward we get for saving planets, I stand by my earlier statement that we should retire from being Jedi someday, and just have actual _fun_ with the rest of our lives.”

It had been an offhand comment then, but Kat remembers. Kira likely doesn’t realize how often Katsulas has thought about doing just that. About leaving the Jedi Order, living his life free of restriction and in accordance to his _own_ interpretation of the Code. 

But he’d be giving up the Order’s resources and connections if he did that. He wouldn’t be able to _help_ those in need as readily or easily. It would be selfish to leave. Better to just endure.

Besides, every time he thinks he’s had enough and is ready to abandon ship, another crisis breaks out. The galaxy has a chronic case of Apocalypse, and Kat is the booster shot.

“Can’t say that isn’t tempting,” Kat admits. “Maybe someday. If, you know, the galaxy still exists by then.”

“Hey, Emperor Vomitface doesn’t stand a chance,” Kira says with a grin. The nickname startles another chuckle out of Kat. “And Teeseven’s been calculating our chances of success. One hundred percent, he says.”

Kat smiles warmly and fondly shakes his head. “Yup, that’s Teeseven all right.” He looks up Kira, at her warm blue eyes and easy smile. She’s worried, he knows. They all are. How couldn’t they be? Fuck this up, and the entire galaxy _dies_ , and Katsulas doesn’t have the slightest idea what they’ll be up against on Belsavis, much less how to stop it. All they have in their favor is the word of one Sith with a three-hundred year old force vision.

And yet, Kira’s still putting on an air of unshakable confidence that she doesn’t actually feel, solely to help prop Katsulas up. There is no judgement, no pressure, no reminding him of a Code he doesn’t fully believe in. Just irreverent nicknames, terrible puns, and unshakable friendship. She’s here for him, no matter what.

Warmth floods Kat’s chest with such intensity that he can’t breathe. His throat tightens and the corners of his eyes sting.

In that instant, he wants to tell Kira everything. They’ve gone through so much together. She’s one of only two friends Kat has in the entire universe. Only Teeseven knows him better, but the little astromech doesn’t understand the concept of physical intimacy. But _Kira_ would understand. Kira had been brought to the Temple at an even later age than Kat. He knows she doesn’t buy into the Order’s whole ‘no attachments’ bantha fodder, same as Kat.

He wants to tell her everything. He wants to tell her how lonely he is, how isolated and afraid he feels. How he wants desperately to know what it’s like to be kissed _breathless_ , to feel a lover’s hands and lips drawing feverish patterns on his skin and pulling strings of helpless, needy vowels from his throat, before the galaxy and everything in it comes to an end.

And she won’t draw the wrong conclusions, won’t think he’s making a pass at her, because his body language is all wrong for that and he’s not attracted to women anyway--

And that’s where it all falls apart.

He’s not alone in his preferences. He knows this from furtive, guilty searches through the seedier sides of the Holonet. But no one _talks_ about it. No one so much as _considers_ the mere _possibility_ that Kat might be attracted to other males and not to females at all. Even though he’s never been quiet about his opinions on the Order’s ‘no attachments’ rules, all the Order sees is that he’s never fallen in love with a woman, never slept with or even kissed a woman, never given in to a temptation they all believe must be there, but isn’t. 

And they don’t look any further. No one does. Kat hears it over and over and over…

_\--Doc saying, “You’ll be up to your chin in beautiful women before the war is over,” with a slimy, nauseating smirk that Kat just wants to punch off of his handsome face, but instead he just grits his teeth and declines Doc’s invitation to ‘go out and pick up some hot chicks’ again and again--_

_\--a man sitting next to him at the bar and shaking his head as he says, “I don’t know how you Jedi do it. Don’t you want to settle down someday? Find a wife, have some kids?” and it’s so close to the truth while being so completely_ wrong _that all Kat can do is mutter something noncommittal, fumble some credit coins onto the counter to pay for his unfinished drink, and leave before he blurts something he’ll regret--_

_\-- “So are you married? Single? Girlfriend? Kids?” And Kat just shakes his head because even when he’s undercover and pretending not to be a Jedi, those are still somehow the only options available to him--_

_\-- “So, you and Carsen seem pretty close…”--_

“Hey, Kat? _Kat._ Kira to Katsulas, your signal’s breaking up.” 

Katsulas startles, breathing in sharply and blinking as his vision refocuses on Kira snapping her fingers a foot away from his face. “Sorry,” he says. “Thinking, spaced out for a moment.”

“No, I hadn’t noticed,” Kira drawls, but she looks worried. She studies him for a moment, and then says, “It’s not just Balmorra, is it? There’s something else bothering you, too.”

Kat sighs and scrubs his fingers over his face. “I hate the waiting,” he says truthfully. “I hate sitting in hyperspace, knowing that we can’t go any faster. We don’t even know how much time we have, and we’re burning precious seconds just _getting_ there. We can’t even plan, because we don’t have enough details on what we’re up against.” Kat reaches up to the padawan braid at his right ear and tugs on it anxiously. It’s a nervous habit he’s never managed to drop. “And all of this right after...right after everything that happened on the Emperor’s Fortress.”

He sees Kira’s jaw tighten at the mention, but there’s no recrimination in her eyes. None of her anger is directed at him, but he wonders if it _should_ be. “I don’t even remember what I did, Kira,” he tells her. “But I know it was bad. 

“It wasn’t you,” Kira says simply. She hops off the edge of the copilot’s seat and crouches next to Kat’s chair, putting herself at eye level and pressing a comforting hand to his shoulder. “Hey, come on, it _wasn’t you_. If anyone can say that with confidence, it’s me, remember? I would know.”

Kat remembers. He’ll never forget hearing Vitiate’s voice coming from Kira’s mouth, or seeing her eyes stained bloody with a hatred not her own. “Thanks, Kira.” He gives her a smile, and this time it’s not strained or forced. “You’re a good friend.”

“That’s what I’m here for,” she grins. “That, and I’m a way better slicer.” When he chuckles, she squeezes his shoulder gently and adds, “Seriously though, you going to be okay? Want some company? We could dust off the dejarik table.”

He could tell her. He wants to tell her. They’re each one of the only friends the other has, and they’ve held one another up through so much. Surely he could tell her about this. Having one other person in the world who shares his secrets, who knows his fears and flaws and desires and accepts _all_ of him without judgement, would bring him a greater peace than he’s ever known. 

But no one talks about it. No one even considers it. It’s not in the media. What if his desires are so anathema that they’re _unthinkable?_ What if this makes him some kind of perverse abomination?

And what if Kira looks at him differently once she knows?

He can’t risk it. He can’t lose one of the only two friends he has. He would fall apart, and the galaxy can’t afford that to happen.

He has more important things to worry about. _Everyone_ is counting on Katsulas and his team to succeed, even if they don’t realize it. He can’t afford to be thinking about his own damn insecurities and stupid longings. He’s a fool for even considering it.

Later, once the galaxy is saved and the Emperor is nothing more than _ashes_ at his feet, he’ll re-evaluate his life. 

And in the meantime he’ll just...avoid thinking about Scourge. He’ll interact with him as little as possible and focus on the mission.

It’ll be fine.

“Sure, why not,” Katsulas says. He uncurls his legs and stands up from the chair. His spine pops audibly as he stretches. “It’s been a while since I’ve played dejarik, but I don’t think I’m too rusty.”

“I’ll thrash you across the board, twig-man, just you wait.”

+++ 

Kira is true to her word; Katsulas loses all but one of the matches. But he feels better afterwards, having put Scourge and the Emperor’s plans out of his mind for an hour and a half. They still have enough time before arriving on Belsavis for Kat to meditate and calm his mind, or to catch some actual sleep. He decides on the latter; his mind can be calm while he’s unconscious. And if he can’t sleep, _then_ he’ll meditate.

He heads for the stairs down to the engine room out of habit. He’s always been able to sleep better with the white noise rumble and hum of machinery filling in the space between his thoughts. He stops on the first step, however, realizing as he looks down the passageway that he’ll have to pass by the cargo bay to reach the engine room. 

And Scourge is in the cargo bay. 

Scourge has appropriated a portion of the room to use as temporary living quarters for the duration of his alliance with Katsulas. He’s in there now, doing...well, Kat isn’t sure what a former _Wrath of the Emperor_ does in his free time. He doesn’t know much at all about Scourge other than what he was told on their way to Tython. What has his life been like these past three hundred years? How did he meet Revan, and what put him on the path to oppose the Emperor in the first place? What was his childhood like? Did he even have a childhood? Kat’s heard horrific stories about the Sith Academy on Korriban, and he doesn’t imagine that those stories are far removed from the truth, even three hundred years ago. What does he do for fun? What brings Scourge joy and pleasure? The Sith are as focused around the concept of _passion_ as the Jedi are around tranquility. What are _Scourge’s_ passions…?

 _Nope_ , Katsulas thinks, and turns back around. That is a dangerous line of thought. He’s supposed to be avoiding Scourge and all of the frustrating, unwanted desires that well up whenever he’s near him. 

Kat tells himself that he’s not _running away_ ; he’s just not going to _invite_ distraction. He’s being practical, that’s all. He’ll try to sleep or meditate in his own disused private quarters.

He closes the door behind him and strips down to his underclothes. He removes the brace from around his right knee and puts his leg through a series of gentle strengthening exercises. It’s been several months since the injury, but he’s not sure he’ll ever get full mobility back. He’ll always need the brace, unless he opts for a full cybernetic replacement. Despite his fondness for robotics, Katsulas has no desire to replace any of his own parts with cybernetics. Not yet, anyway. When he’s finished, he curls up on the bed and tries to lull his mind towards sleep. 

But his bed is a little too soft, the room a little too quiet, and the air lacks the comforting, sharp tang of metal oil he’s used to. Katsulas shifts fitfully, not quite able to drift off. He reaches for the Force to calm his thoughts, but the instant he begins to sink into meditation and spread his awareness out, he senses Scourge in the cargo bay below. 

Scourge is a sharp red spike in the Force: a tight, controlled knot of heat and power that lodges itself in Kat’s brain like an aneurism waiting to happen. He can’t ignore it now that he’s sensed it. 

He can’t stop his thoughts from wandering back to that brief contact outside the Council Chambers, either. His imagination picks up where it had left off on the bridge earlier: strong crimson hands tight enough around his wrists to bruise, fingertips digging into the sharp points of his hips and holding him down, teeth at his throat and a warm mouth pressing a fever into his pulse point. 

Kat groans and curses as a pang of heat spikes low in his belly, just as sharp and unignorable as Scourge’s force presence in his mind. 

He needs to get this out of his system. He’s alone with a few hours to himself before they arrive at Belsavis. There won’t be a better time or place. He’ll work his frustrations out, and maybe he’ll even be able to sleep afterwards.

Before the guilt can come creeping back, Kat draws his mental shields up and pushes his leggings down to his knees. He closes his eyes and curls a hand around his swelling cock. He pictures Scourge above him, his mouth curved into a smirk and his red eyes darkened with desire. He pretends that Scourge is holding him down to the bed, and that those are Scourge’s fingers pumping his cock. Kat’s breath hitches and he bites his lower lip as heat blooms in his chest and white-hot fire drips from his belly into his groin and thighs. Everything else dissolves away. There is no room. He cannot feel the sheets beneath him or hear the quiet sounds of the ship over the hammering of his own heart. He imagines fingers tightening in his hair and pulling his head back, opening him to possessive nips and hot breath on his vulnerable throat.

Katsulas shudders and curls inward. His hand quickens around his cock and his hips jerk with sharp, uneven motions as heat tightens his balls. He imagines his legs wrapped around Scourge’s waist. Kat’s breath hitches in his throat, and he slows the stroking movements of his fingers as he reaches around with his other hand and presses first one, then two fingers into himself. 

Kat moves his fingers--both sets of them--and tips his head back. He fucks himself and pretends it’s Scourge fucking him hard into the mattress. Kat’s lips part and his eyes are squeezed shut so tightly he can see the entire galaxy flashing against his lids. His senses are dissolving into a roar of white fire. Lightning curls in his groin and his muscles burn with tension as he clenches tight as a coiled spring. He comes with a strangled noise, his hips jerking and cock twitching as he pulses all over his moving hand and the sheets beneath. 

Kat lies quiet and still afterwards, trembling and spent, as his heart rate and breathing slowly return to normal. His hands are shaking. His inner thighs ache. The room is quiet. He is alone.

He presses his face into the pillow as guilt and shame rise to swallow him whole.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Katsulas's shielding isn't as good as he thinks it is, and a death cult attempts to ruin everyone's day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It has taken me far too long to write this chapter, so I'm just calling it good here and posting it. My nano has taken up the majority of my writing time recently, and Belsavis took way longer than I'd expected it to. This is mostly un-edited, so apologies for awkward wording and grammatical mistakes. I'll fix them as I spot them later.
> 
> There should be two more chapters remaining after this one. This chapter is still build-up from Scourge's POV, so apologies to anyone who was hoping for actual smut after the last chapter. It'll happen soon enough.
> 
> **Spoilers for the entirety of the Jedi Knight storyline on Belsavis.**

 

Scourge senses it all. The Knight's shields are good, but not good enough to keep out someone like himself–-a powerful Sith with three centuries of training and discipline-–not to mention the unique talent that he's told none of his new 'companions' about.

The Knight's lust and pleasure flood his senses, a forgotten spice sharp against the dull, bland void the rest of the world has become. Scourge hones his awareness in on that spark of passion. It tastes thick and heavy on his tongue. Scourge closes his eyes and savors the sensations. They're only echoes, only reminders of what he himself can no longer experience, but it's the most vivid reminder he's had since the ritual was first performed. Scourge drinks it all in from start to blinding, exquisite finish–-

–-only to have the experience soured by the bitter aftertaste of the Knight's guilt and shame.

Scourge opens his eyes and scowls. For a moment, he's irritated enough that he considers leaving the cargo bay, marching up to the Knight's room, and  _personally_  driving all thoughts of shame and regret from his mind. The Knight does not realize what a precious gift it is to be able to  _feel_  with such intensity. Passion, ecstasy, power, freedom––this Knight could have  _all_  of it, if only he would slip the Council's leash. He could do so, too, without any real repercussions. He'd demonstrated that already when he'd stood up against Master Kaedan in the Council chambers. Knight Katsulas had stopped short of actually  _igniting_  his lightsabers, but the threat had been clear enough.

And none of the Councillors had given him so much as a reprimand.

It's so blindingly clear to Scourge. The Council holds only the  _illusion_  of power over Knight Katsulas. Why can't the Knight see that? Scourge wants to grab the idiot little human's shoulders and  _shake_  him, wants to hiss the truth into his ear and not let go until he  _listens_.

A low, steady creaking sound distracts Scourge from his thoughts. He looks down.

His hands are clenched into fists. The creaking sound is coming from the abused plasteel of his gauntlets. He'd curled his fingers so tightly that, with his augmented strength, he might easily crush any of the Knight's fragile human bones between them with the pressure.

 _I'm angry_ , Scourge realizes, still staring down at his hands.  _Keen irritation, frustration._ It manifests in the clenching of his fists, the tightness of his jaw, and the sensation like pressure in his chest. The latter is hard to notice beneath the background static of pain that is his only constant companion. He barely notices the agony anymore, but only because he barely notices  _any_ sensation.

Except for this. He can feel this.

It's not much. It's a paltry echo that pales in comparison to the real thing. But it's more than he's felt in centuries.

Scourge lowers his hands and lifts his head to stare in the direction of the Knight's force signature. _He_ is the new variable here. The Knight is the catalyst enabling him to feel a distant, muted spark of sensation once more. Scourge wonders how much brighter that spark might become, if the Knight continues to feed it. Scourge will do almost  _anything_  to feel passion and pleasure once more. Now that he's had a taste of it, he will  _not_  let go.

Ever since first meeting the Knight, his plan had always been to coax him into embracing the dark side, but only for the purpose of amplifying the Knight's power. He will need to reach his full potential if he is to defeat the Sith Emperor and prevent the galaxy's destruction. And while this will remain Scourge's primary motivation and goal...now he has a new reason to tear the Knight away from his restraints, from his rules and all of the trappings of guilt and shame and weakness that go with them.

And the Knight is already so close to rebelling. Scourge can still remember the lingering echoes of the Knight's desire stinging the back corners of his mouth. It won't take much to make this one fall, Scourge decides. He already  _wants_  to fall. He simply doesn't realize that there is nothing standing in his way. Nothing but  _himself_ , that is.

But Scourge can help with that. It had only taken a little observation to find the Knight's hidden longings, his weaknesses and desires. All that remains is to wait for the right moments and  _press_ , like fingertips against a forgotten bruise.

 _After Belsavis,_  Scourge decides. He cannot afford for the Knight to be more distracted than he already is. Nothing is more important right now than preventing the billions of deaths that will otherwise kickstart the end of the galaxy.

* * *

Executor Krannus is the key. Scourge knows this and says as much the instant the name leaves Grand Master Shan's lips. Everything else is irrelevant. The riots don't matter. The dismantling of the prison system doesn't matter. Those deaths will not feed the Emperor. The real threat is Krannus.

It is a suicide mission for Krannus, Scourge knows. He will sacrifice himself to destroy Belsavis, and he will do so with joy. He is a fanatic, loyal beyond all reason to the Sith Emperor, and it is a fitting end for a Sith Pureblood without  _any_  Force sensitivity.

Scourge  _knows_  that Krannus is the real threat.

And yet, the Knight's team is still split up. Divided, so as to investigate and suppress the Empire's efforts on Belsavis from all angles.

"This is  _pointless_ ," Scourge growls. He narrows his eyes down at the small form stalking ahead of him towards Guardpost Beta's speeder transports.

The Knight pauses only briefly to glance over his shoulder at Scourge. "You'll have to be more specific."

"We should not have split up. We could disrupt the power grid more quickly if your  _entire_  crew were focused on the same task. Not scattered, quelling the Emperor's  _diversions_. Their current tasks do not  _matter_. It is a waste."

The Knight doesn't slow down. He shrugs and keeps walking, but Scourge can sense the sharp splinters of irritation in him. "For all we really know,  _this_  could be just a distraction. Enna Tabord is dead, and while I didn't sense that Pak was lying–"

"He was not lying," Scourge says firmly.

The Knight just shrugs again and continues. "Still, he got the information about Krannus secondhand, from someone who was  _dying_. He only knows however much she had time to tell him. Maybe she left something out. Maybe she only thought Krannus is at the prison's main reactor." The Knight hands his identicard to the speeder droid, and rocks back on his heels, fingertips tapping his thighs impatiently as the droid scans it. "We don't know anything for certain. The more ears and eyes we have in more places, the better situated we'll be if this gets fucked." The Knight takes his card back and picks out a speeder. He swings a leg over and starts it up.

Scourge follows suit, picking out his own speeder and turning over the Knight's logic in his mind. On an instinctual level, he doesn't like it. Their current path will lead them to Krannus, whether directly or indirectly. But it is true that having more eyes and ears will help them find Krannus more quickly. Minimizing the chaos may even make it easier to spot the true danger.

But they may not have  _time_  for such caution. Scourge feels  _danger_  radiating through the air, from the very ground itself. They do not have long.

 _You have not yet reached your full potential, Jedi_ , Scourge thinks as his speeder purrs to life.  _I only hope that it is enough for now._

The Knight glances back at him, possibly having expected further argument or at least acknowledgment of his own reasoning. But silence is the closest to a concession the Knight will get from Scourge right now. Scourge simply stares back at him, waiting, and after a moment says, "There is little time to waste."

The Knight blinks, hesitates for the barest fraction of a second, and then shakes his head. His speeder rockets forward, and Scourge follows close behind.

* * *

It  _is_  a distraction after all, but not a total waste of their efforts. Colonel Hareth (yet  _another_  force-blind Sith Pureblood––a disgrace to the very name of their species) gives away more than even she realizes before Scourge and the Knight cut her down along with her squad. In trying to buy her lover time, she has doomed him along with his plans.

 _If_ Scourge and the Knight can track him down in time, that is.

Without needing to be prompted, the Knight drags out Krannus's holocall as long as possible, while Scourge silently contacts their ally Pak and attempts to trace the signal. But while Krannus is fanatical and utterly delusional, he is not  _entirely_  a fool; he cuts the communication short before the trace is complete.

"Fuck!" The Knight clenches his hand around the holocom like he's going to crush it, but stops short, reigning in the temper that Scourge feels bubbling within him like acid.

Scourge imagines those slender, gloved fingers sheathed with the violet-tinged power of the Dark Side. Imagines them closing all the way, metal and sparks spilling out between the gaps like soft intestine and bloodspatter.  _Do it,_  Scourge thinks.  _Let your rage give you strength!_

But instead the Knight closes his grey eyes and takes a slow, deep breath. The fury ebbs away. Scourge can almost  _hear_  the Knight reciting his damnable  _Code_  in his head. The Knight's lips aren't moving, but Scourge is certain that's what he's doing. The Sith clenches his gauntleted hands. He wants to grab the Knight and slam him against the wall hard enough to jar those neat, false lines from his head. He wants to crush their mouths together until the Knight has no breath left to utter meaningless platitudes or protestations.

But now is not the time or the place for that. Scourge savors his desires inwardly, secretly, and does not act upon them. He watches as the Knight regains composure, and only  _imagines_  pressing bruises into his dark skin.

"Alright, at least we have a good image of him. And a voice recording." The Knight tugs on the ridiculous padawan braid at his right ear (why  _does_  he still wear that? Scourge makes a mental note to ask at some point) and taps his nervous energy out against the duracrete floor with his left foot. "Pak, think you can get a lock on Krannus with the prison's security systems now that you have his voice and image?"

" _I can try, yeah. The riots have shut down a lot of local surveillance nodes, but if he goes anywhere near a working camera, we've got him."_

"Great, we'll head back to you in the meantime. Contact me  _immediately_  if you find Krannus."

" _Will do. Be careful out there."_

The Knight closes the link and cards his fingers through his black hair. "Well, it's something. Fuck, I hate this."

Scourge's eyes follow the Knight's hands briefly. He wonders how the Knight would react if it was  _Scourge's_  fingers tightening in his hair. He recalls how several of the humans he'd bedded long ago had enjoyed that. It's certainly something to keep in mind for later. "Send the holorecording of Krannus to the rest of your companions as well," he advises. "If we are to remain divided, we should all at least be equally apprised of the situation."

The Knight nods and dials his holocom to do just that as he turns and begins to head back towards the exit.

* * *

By the time they find the hostage scientists and their Imperial captors, even Scourge is too frustrated to enjoy how the Knight's control over his anger is slipping with every passing minute. Power outages, rioting inmates (Scourge has to admit that the Knight had been correct to divert some of his team to quell the rioters), and captured bases (swarming with Imperial forces and freed prisoners eager for a chance to ride the Empire's contrails off-planet) have all forced them to make detour after detour and suffer delay after delay. All the while, the danger grows. All of Scourge's instincts are snarling at him to fight or flee from this planet before it's too late.

Scourge knows the Knight senses it, too. He sees it in the tension cording the Knight's neck, in the stiffness of his back, in the way his widened grey eyes dart everywhere and linger nowhere, in his quickened, shallower breathing.

And now that they've finally fought their way to Vault S-31, where Krannus and Doctor Gantrell  _should_  be according to Gantrell's tracking beacon, neither Scourge nor the Knight can see any sign of either man.

Just more hostages, and one of Krannus's subordinates with a blaster pointed at a scientist who isn't Doctor Gantrell. Because Krannus and Gantrell are already gone. Gantrell's tracking beacon, still a mottled crimson with drying blood, is lying on a nearby crate. It's all been yet another distraction.

This very fear has been clawing at the back of both of their minds ever since the tracking beacon had stopped moving. Panic floods the Knight's emotions, drowning out everything else but the desire to run, to fight, to  _move_  before it's too late.

Commander Rayfel has no idea of any of this when he smirks at them and says, "Hostages? These aren't hostages. These are  _batteries_ ," and then fires his blaster into the back of a scientist's head.

The sound of the blaster's report hasn't even faded from their ears yet before the Knight  _screams._  He flings his arms forward, and the air sizzles as twin purple sabers arc towards Rayfel.

Scourge has his own saber ignited less than a second later. Rayfel dodges the Knight's sabers, surprise on his face. As the Knight coils the Force around his legs and  _lunges_  for the commander, sabers snapping back through the air and into his waiting palms, Rayfel grins, and Scourge can sense life energy pouring out of the dead scientist and into Rayfel.

 _Batteries_.

It's exactly what the Emperor is planning to do to the entire galaxy. Rayfel has gained power from death, from a life he has taken.

 _This_  is why the Emperor's death cultists believe so strongly. They know this power is real. They've seen it. They've  _done_  it.

With his stolen power, Rayfel is almost a match for the Knight. Scourge cuts down the other imperial officers before they have a chance to sacrifice the remaining scientists. Without backup and against two skilled opponents, Rayfel falls in minutes.

It is several minutes too many. Krannus is that much further ahead now. They are running out of time to stop him.

The Knight steps back from Rayfel's body. His lightsaber deactivates, but Scourge can sense the adrenaline still burning through his veins.

"If you hadn't come here...we owe you our lives," says one of the scientists, a balding, middle-aged human man. He's shaking, but the only damage is to his nerves.

The Knight opens his mouth to respond, but his commlink beeps first. He jerks with surprise at the noise and draws in a sharp breath, then shakes his head slightly and clicks his commlink on while Scourge watches him.

It's Pak. The Knight's irritation spikes as their zabrak ally begins not with useful information, but with flattery. "I don't need compliments," the Knight cuts in. "I need to know where Executor Krannus went. He's not here!"

The scientist who'd thanked them speaks up then, twisting his dirt and sweat crusted fingers together anxiously. "Executor Krannus is what the Imperials called their Leader. He took Doctor Gantrell."

" _Took him?"_ Pak's hologram turns towards the scientist. " _But his tracking chip says he's right there."_

"The Sith carved it out of the Doctor's skin and threw it in the corner–he screamed the whole time."

None of it's news. Scourge had spotted the tracking beacon as they'd approached Rayfus and his 'batteries'. He'd put the pieces together easily from that. One glance at the Knight's dark features–-tightening with impatience–-tells him that the Knight knows all of this already, too, evident when the Knight begins to tap his left foot. He tugs at his padawan braid with the hand not holding his holocom.

He's clever, this Knight. Quick, observant, powerful, and passionate. Scourge is looking forward to peeling away the last of the Knight's restraint. Scourge is certain he can break the Knight of the shame and guilt the Jedi Council has brainwashed into him. Scourge will claw that away even as he claws his fingers down the Knight's back and rips cries from his lungs.

If they survive this, that is.

"Do you know where they were headed?" the Knight asks. He spares no breath for comfort or consolation, and Scourge approves.

"The Imperials demanded access to the prison's power core," the scientist answers, "but those levels are sealed. There's only one key to the core, and we secure it inside the main research vault. Only Doctor Gantrell can open it."

"Tell me where," the Knight says.

"Wait–there's more." The scientist reaches out a hand as though to physically stop them from leaving.

The Knight frowns, but he listens as the scientist continues to tell them about prototype weapons of incredible power, about how these weapons were hidden but possibly not hidden securely enough. It takes Scourge and the Knight a few moments to process that the man is actually asking them to do.

The Knight blinks a couple of times and stares at the scientist. "I...Krannus is on the move  _right now_. I don't know if I can catch up to him in time as it is!"

"Look, this is cutting edge technology we're talking about," the scientist cuts in, desperately. Scourge suppresses the urge to force choke him into silence. "Massive destructive potential!"

Pak's hologram turns to look back at the Knight. " _It's hard enough to put down these riots as it is,"_  he says. " _If the prisoners get their hands on these weapons, thousands could die."_

Scourge cannot keep quiet. He looks down at the Knight, catches his grey eyes, and growls softly, "The fate of thousands is insignificant when faced with the destruction of the entire galaxy."

" _You're a Jedi! You can't turn your back on this!"_ Pak shouts at the Knight.

The Knight narrows his gaze down at the hologram, and Scourge can see his jaw tense as he clenches his teeth together. "If I don't stop Krannus, the entire planet will die. Contact Jedi Kira Carsen or Sergeant Fideltin Rusk. Get them to help. I don't  _care_  if I'm closer, I do not have time for this right now! Get me the coordinates to the power core or we're  _all dead_."

It's enough to stop Pak from arguing, and it's a good compromise, even if Scourge doesn't believe it's a necessary one. Pak gives them the coordinates, and the Knight wastes no more time. He  _sprints_  back to the speeders, whispering something underneath his quickened breath, though Scourge can't hear what over the sound of their pounding feet.

* * *

It was the right move. Scourge knows this the instant Krannus contacts them in person. If there truly is no way to stop Krannus, he wouldn't have bothered to set up a diversion: explosives all along the closest main volcanic rift. Krannus had to divert some of his remaining forces to set this distraction up. "At this rate," Scourge can't help but mock, "there will be no one left to protect you once we catch up with you."

Krannus looks at Scourge without fear or doubt. "If all goes as planned, that meeting will never happen."

"Because of course, this is just another distraction," the Knight grits out.

Krannus smiles at him. "One you cannot afford to ignore this time. Not unless you want the Emperor to win. If you want to stop my commandos, I suggest you hurry. I'll press on without you. I'm sure you understand." The transmission turns to static.

" _Fuck_!" the Knight snarls. He lashes out with one hand, aiming for a boulder, and smashes it to dust and rubble with one powerful burst of force energy.

Scourge blinks. He cannot be certain, but…

...had he seen violet sparks veining through that blast?

The Knight drags his fingers through his hair. Static electricity clings to the strands, adding to his increasingly ragged, disheveled look. It mirrors the rapidly deteriorating loss of control within. Scourge wonders if he's unaware of how quickly he's falling, or if this happens more often than Scourge had originally believed.

"Fuck. That's not how geology fucking works, though," the Knight growls. "He  _can't_  crack open an entire planet by setting up a few piddling explosives on the surface. That's not how volcanoes– _augh!_ "

Scourge hesitates, and then says, "Are you willing to risk it, though? If he is right…"

The Knight closes his eyes. "No, I'm not willing to risk it. I  _am_  going to bitch about it, though. Come on."

* * *

They disarm the explosives as quickly as they can. The distraction works, however; by the time they find Doctor Gantrell in the maximum security block, Krannus is gone. A massive, spiked creature is there instead, looking to make the Doctor into its afternoon tea snack. The Knight and Scourge cut it down.

The Knight helps Gantrell to his feet and listens as the doctor answers his hurried questions. Scourge already knows he won't like what he hears; the mere fact that the Doctor is here and Krannus is not means that Krannus already has the key to the power core.

What Scourge doesn't expect is for the news to be even  _worse_.

"Krannus took the key to the prison's power core!" Gantrell babbles frantically. "He intends to destroy it! Do you have any idea what that means?"

The Knight is already nodding. "Yes. He'll destroy the entire planet itself."

"It's far, far worse than that."

The Knight goes very still. For once, Scourge doesn't watch him; his entire focus is on the doctor instead.

"The power core derives energy from hyperspace itself. A detonation will send shockwaves at lightspeed. Belsavis's destruction is only the beginning! The shock waves will annihilate this entire system–and consume the ones adjacent to it! Trillions will die!"

The Knight sways a little on his feet. Scourge senses shock...and then  _anger_. "And you just  _led_ him here anyway? Knowing what he planned to do? You little  _coward!_ "

The Doctor recoils. "He tortured me! Please, I'm not like you, I'm just a man! Don't...don't leave me here. Seal me inside one of the empty vaults until the Republic regains control!"

But the Knight is already shaking his head and backing slowly away. Scourge can't quite see his expression, but he doesn't have to; he senses pain, panic, and a lingering anger that's quickly fading into remorse, regret, and helplessness. "I'm sorry," the Knight says. The righteous fury in his voice from only seconds before is already gone. "I'm sorry, but there's no time, I have to stop Krannus. I'm so sorry, there's no time to play escort!"

"But...you're a Jedi! You can't just leave me here to die!"

But the Knight is already running. "Trillions!" he calls back over his shoulder. "I'm sorry!"

Scourge runs after him, and doesn't spare the Doctor a second glance. He tunes out the man's desperate, fading pleas with ease, and instead focuses on the narrow, wiry form of the Knight ahead of him. He's learned much about the Knight over these past several hours. The Jedi does not have as tight a leash on his own anger as Scourge had believed, nor does he allow his own compassion and sentiment to rule him as much as Scourge had feared.

 _Should we survive this, and should you defeat the Sith Emperor as I foresaw,_ Scourge thinks,  _I will convince you to leave your Order. Perhaps someday you will even become Sith._

It doesn't occur to Scourge to wonder why he has already decided to stay with the Jedi Knight even after he no longer has a use for him.

As Scourge catches up, he realizes that the Knight is mouthing something. His lips are moving quietly, but Scourge can make out the words 'harmony', 'death', and 'the force'. He thinks at first that he's reciting his Order's meaningless Code, but even as his own upper lip curls with distaste, he realizes that it can't be the Code.

The lines are too short. Too few words. A shortened version, perhaps? But Scourge has never known any Jedi to shorten or modify their Order's Code. It's always the same lines, over and over again, down to the audible punctuation.

It's yet another curiosity for later, once they've survived.

* * *

They aren't too late, but only barely. They find Krannus in the power core with enough remaining commandos to ruin their day, and enough explosives to ruin everyone else's. Even as they walk forward towards Krannus, Scourge is spotting for the bombs and plotting the quickest route to disarm them all.

It'll be close, Scourge realizes. If they even have time at all.

Krannus knows it, too. He's smirking as he crosses his arms over his chest. It is the expression of a fanatic who believes beyond a doubt that he's won, that his god smiles upon him, and that greatness awaits him beyond death. "You're too late. The detonite charges are in place. Even you won't be able to stop them all in time."

"We'll see about that," the Knight growls back. His sabers are in his hands. The air sizzles three times as he and Scourge ignite their weapons.

But Krannus simply glows with even greater elation. He is  _smiling_ , crimson eyes aglow, heart bright with absolute joy. "We're all going to die here. The only difference is,  _I'll_  live again."

The Knight shifts, moving his sabers into an altered–but still recognizable–Form III opening stance. Scourge is already calculating, deciding who among the enemy will attack first, and what his own target priorities should be. He can choke several of the weaker ones at once, he knows. Curl his will through the Force around their windpipes until they give with a satisfying crunch. That will give the Knight a chance to focus his efforts on Krannus himself–the same way they'd defeated Rayfus.

But no one quite makes it to that point before a smoke grenade plinks to the duracrete in between the Knight and Krannus, and explodes.

In the choking grey dust, Scourge cannot see the Republic special forces soldiers take out the nearest Imperial commandos, but he can sense it happening. He and the Knight keep their eyes closed and do not breathe until the smoke clears, but when it does, a Duros sergeant and his team have their weapons trained on Krannus and the remaining Imperials. A timely and unexpected rescue doubtlessly sent by Pak, though clearly Pak didn't fill them in on every detail; the sergeant would have known better than to bother demanding a surrender if he had.

"Imperials! Surrender to the Jedi Knight immediately! Drop your weapons!"

There is no time, and the Knight knows it. He hasn't stowed his weapons yet, and his grey eyes are wide with urgency. "They've planted bombs around the power core! They're planning to blow it up and take the entire planet with it!"

Krannus draws his rifle and cries out, "For the Emperor's Glory! Die, and be reborn!"

Krannus does not go down easily. He never expected to survive; all he needs to do is delay them long enough for at least one, possibly two, of the bombs to go off. When Krannus falls, the Knight's lightsabers buried deep in his lungs, he is smiling and there are only five minutes left on the detonation timers.

"Katsulas!" Scourge shouts. The Knight looks over at him, startled by the use of his own name rather than 'Jedi' or 'Knight'. Scourge moves to the ledge and points at two of the four bombs. "Take those two, I'll disarm the last two!"

The Knight nods. "Got it." And he vaults off the ledge, landing in a roll and a sprint.

They disarm the bombs with a full minute to spare. The Knight's hands are shaking ever so slightly, but he's smiling, flush with relief and lingering adrenaline. Scourge, however, feels none of that. As the Knight talks to the Duros sergeant, Scourge keeps his distance and ignores the Republic soldiers' suspicious glares. Scourge is already deep in thought, contemplating the Emperor's next move. He will have a backup plan already in place. This was a victory, yes, but they have not won yet.

This will not be over until the Emperor is nothing but corpse dust at the Knight's feet.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scourge finally begins to push Knight Katsulas. Kira is concerned, and for good reason; Kat is not known for dealing with frustration or anger very well at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been...almost six months since I last updated, and it's been a hell of a time. Between work, irl developments, and an illness that put me in the ER and kept me bedridden for weeks, it has been difficult to work on this. But on the bright side, this chapter is 10k words long. It also finally contains the fight scene that inspired this entire fic. So that makes up for it...right?
> 
> Credit goes to my fiance [AkiRah](http://archiveofourown.org/users/AkiRah/pseuds/AkiRah) (that's also news), who actually knows how Italian longsword and went through my fight scene to make it plausible and realistic (insofar as lightsabers can be realistic). 

 

Even on the best of days, Knight Katsulas has no tolerance for politics. He lacks the patience, the interest, and most of all the _tact_ required. He can play nice in front of senators and other politicians when he's had a good strong cup of caff (or, better yet, an even stronger cup of black tea) and at least seven hours of sleep.

Katsulas has had neither of those things in at least 72 hours.

"I don't give a fuck," the Knight snaps at Colonel Bartaph, who has done absolutely nothing to deserve this from him. She's just doing her job. The past several days can't have been much better for her. She's been dealing with this riot for days now. She's been holding herself and her surviving comrades together while all of their carefully-constructed order and infrastructure falls down around them. Now, she has to pick up the pieces.

" _Kat!_ " Kira hisses at him through clenched teeth. She's standing slightly behind Katsulas's right shoulder, so he can't see her eyes widening with dismay, but he can imagine. He still ignores her warning.

Colonel Bartaph's jaw tightens and her mouth thins. With gritted teeth, she says, "Appreciated, Master Jedi, however the situation remains regardless."

"You know what other situation remains?" Kat growls without thinking. " _Project Noble Focus._ I'd have been _much_ more amiable if you'd detained me because you wanted to pick my brain about _that_ particular _atrocity_. But instead you're wasting my time telling me what a foul criminal Pak used to be back in the day. So I'm telling you that I don't fucking care what sort of foul criminal Pak used to be _back in the day;_ he was the only Sith-damned person on this fucking planet both willing and able to help me get to Krannis before he could nuke Belsavis and the entire surrounding system along with it! If it weren't for Pak, we'd all be fucking dead!"

Colonel Bartaph stares at him.

She _really_ doesn't deserve this from him. This fact becomes starkly apparent when she says, "Project Noble Focus?" in a tone of blank incomprehension.

Katsulas stares back at her, the power temporarily cut from his metaphorical engines as he processes the fact that Colonel Bartaph has absolutely _no idea_ what Project Noble Focus is, and is therefore completely unaware that a Republic Senator had organized a large-scale, secret military experiment in which groups of non-human prisoners were forced to fight one another in death matches. Kira had stumbled across the facility while Kat had been chasing Krannus down. She'd sliced into the isolated mainframe and downloaded every scrap of recoverable evidence she could find, bless her. It'll be more than enough to damn Senator Tudos-maybe even get him thrown into Belsavis prison himself. Now _that_ would be karmic justice.

Of course, that's assuming the galaxy hasn't been devoured by a power-mad Sith Emperor by then.

Katsulas's anger deflates out of him. He presses his right thumb and index fingers to his eyes and sighs. "You don't know about Project Noble Focus. Fuck."

The irritation in the Colonel's voice is even more pronounced when she answers him. "No, Master Jedi, evidently I do not."

Katsulas drops his hand and shifts his weight awkwardly from one foot to the other and back again. He's made an ass of himself, and he knows it. As per usual. "You're going to find out soon enough, I guess," he says with a sigh, and turns to look back at Kira.

Kira's already gotten her datapad out, _bless_ her. She already knows what Kat's going to ask. "Go on ahead, Kat," she says. "Get the ship ready. I'll brief the Colonel on Project 'Speciest Death Matches In The Name of Science'. She even makes air quotes with her fingers.

The Colonel's eyes widen. " _What?_ "

"Yeah, it's...bad," Kat says. "Sorry for snapping at you, Colonel. Tact and patience aren't among my virtues."

"And yet you're a _jedi_ ," the Colonel says, though she does look a little mollified by Kat's apology.

"Not a very good one," Kat says with a shrug and a rueful twist to his mouth.

"Mmm." The Colonel's eyes flick upwards, over Katsulas's head to where Scourge is standing. The Sith Lord is anything but subtle. Fortunately, most everyone on Belsavis has been too caught up in the chaos of the riots to give Kat grief over Scourge's presence. "I see."

"Jedi, we are _wasting time_ ," Scourge growls quietly.

Katsulas swallows and flushes faintly. "Right." He squares his shoulders and looks at Colonel Bartaph. He doesn't know what to say in situations like this. He's not a fucking diplomat. "I wish you the best in restoring order. And Pak Taldine's word is good. I mean it when I say that we'd all be dead if he hadn't helped us."

The Colonel nods, and then gives Kira her attention as the other Jedi begins to copy file after incriminating file from her datapad to the Colonel's databanks.

"Jedi," Scourge rumbles again.

"Yeah," Kat says, and turns to leave the administration building. He senses rather than hears Scourge follow him; for a man of his size wearing heavy, bulky armor, he can be unnervingly silent.

It isn't until they reach the spaceport and are heading towards the _Prodigal Starfish_ 's hangar bay that Scourge breaks the silence and asks him: "What were you reciting under your breath as we left Gantrell?"

Kat's stride falters. He turns and looks up. Scourge's brow is furrowed, mouth downturned, and eyes narrowed intently. Kat gets the impression that Scourge has been stewing over this particular question for a while now. As though it's actually _bothering_ him. "What?"

Scourge's frown deepens. He makes an impatient gesture with one hand and says, "As we ran to intercept Krannus at the power core, you were reciting something. At first, I thought it was your Order's _Code_ "-Scourge's disdain is audible when he says the word 'code'- "but it wasn't, was it?"

Kat's jaw clenches and he resumes walking-albeit more slowly than before-towards the hangar. He doesn't ask Scourge how he knows. It would be pointless and Kat would just succeed in irritating him.

Besides, a large part of Kat desperately wants to tell Scourge about the version of the Jedi Code he's adopted, about how it makes so much more sense, how it encapsulates _true_ balance, about how the Jedi Order's philosophies are unhealthy, crippling extremes and how he hasn't let himself be blinded by them, how he's kept his passions without allowing himself be _ruled_ by them-

He wants to tell all of this to a powerful Sith Lord, to a man who will undoubtedly take the opportunity to attempt seducing Kat to the Dark Side. A man to whom Kat is _distractingly_ attracted. It's a _bad_ idea.

Kat's going to do it anyway.

Maybe his passions rule him more than he wants to believe.

 _Or maybe I'm just sick of keeping quiet_ , he thinks.

"No...and yes," Kat replies, his words slow and measured. "It's...an older version of the Jedi Code. From before it was changed for…'clarification'." He almost spits the last word.

Scourge's brow tendrils lift in response to the acid bitterness in the Knight's voice. "I was not aware the Jedi Code had ever changed."

"Neither was I until recently," Katsulas says. He tugs at the braid in front of his right ear and shrugs. "A lot of history was lost when the Coruscant Temple was destroyed. And in the 'Civil War' before that. But I've been through a good many ancient ruins and poked at more old artifacts than is probably prudent. The Council either doesn't acknowledge the existence of an earlier version, or else they stand by the change." Kat's mouth twists bitterly. "They don't like admitting that they're wrong."

"Mm. Disappointing, but unsurprising," Scourge rumbles. "The Sith, too, have changed regrettably little over the past three hundred years. They do not learn, do not adapt. They claim strength, and yet they allow themselves to stagnate." For a moment, Scourge hesitates, as though he wants to say more, but instead he asks: "What is this older Code of yours, Jedi?"

It's the most that Scourge has spoken regarding his personal opinions of the modern-day Sith...or on anything not to do with Emperor Vitiate, for that matter. He has been unwaveringly single-minded; his only outward concern is the destruction of the Emperor. Kat knows little of his thoughts or desires beyond that.

The Knight looks up to find the Scourge's blood red gaze fixed intently on him, unblinking and curious. Katsulas takes in a quiet breath to calm his nerves as they step into the hangar elevator, and after he presses the button and the lift begins to ascend, he recites: "Emotion, yet peace. Passion, yet serenity. Ignorance, yet knowledge. Chaos, yet harmony. Death, yet the Force."

Scourge says nothing in the seconds of silence that follow, but the Jedi can feel the weight of his steady, intense gaze. Katsulas tugs at his braid again and stares fixedly at the lift doors as they ascend to the hangar bay where the _Prodigal Starfish_ waits. "It's _balance_ ," he explains. "It's embracing emotion and passion without letting them rule you. It's knowing that you _can't_ have perfect control-that a certain amount of chaos is an essential part of the universe and that without it, nothing can grow or evolve. But the Council today doesn't see any of that. They seem to think it's best to just cut out emotion and passion entirely. They even warn against feeling too much _compassion_. You're not supposed to become attached to anyone or anything, or you'll lose control and turn into some mad, sadistic monster."

Kat's voice rises slowly but steadily, and his fingers have tightened, forgotten, around his braid with enough force that his fingertips and knuckles are pale. "And it's fucking _stupid_. It's _idiotic_ and it _breaks people_. Yes, let's _actively prevent_ entire generations of sentient beings from learning how to handle experiencing complex, powerful, and perfectly natural emotions! Because _that_ won't backfire _at all_. And we'll point to all of the Jedi who _do_ inevitably snap as examples of why our bantha shit Code is right! Fucking _genius!_ "

Scourge is staring at him with something akin to surprise, but Kat barely notices. He seethes on, both hands now gesturing vehemently in the air: "And worse are the hypocrites who _do_ break the Code while still _enforcing_ it-who form attachments in secret while still preaching 'there is no emotion', and cracking down hard on the padawans and knights who slip. That's not balance, and it's not healthy! And I _refuse_ to-"

The lift clangs to a halt and the doors slide open. Katsulas's tirade cuts off abruptly as he closes his mouth with an audible click of his teeth. Shouting in the confines of a lift with only Scourge to hear him is one thing; ranting like a furious madman in an open area around Republic technicians and soldiers is quite another.

So he shuts up.

When Katsulas dares to look up, Scourge is still staring at him with an expression that he can't quite decipher beyond ' _intense'._ Kat swallows and turns his eyes firmly forward as he exits the lift and walks towards the _Prodigal Starfish_. "So, yeah. In summary, the Jedi Code is fucking stupid," he says, just loud enough for Scourge to hear. "The Council is made up of hypocrites. I'm very bitter. The end."

There is a second of silence, and then Scourge _laughs_. It's a deep, rich, rumbling sound filled with fierce, savage _glee_. It's the first display of intense emotion of any kind from Scourge, and it's so unexpected that Katsulas halts mid-step and turns around to stare at Scourge with wide grey eyes.

Scourge is _grinning_ as he closes the distance between them. Strong gloved fingers curl around Kat's jaw before he can think to react. " _Magnificent_ ," Scourge breathes. He bends down and tips Kat's face up, fingers still firm on the line of his jaw. Kat has stopped breathing. He doesn't even blink as Scourge purrs, "You are _wasted_ on the Jedi."

And then Scourge lets him go, straightens, and strides towards the ship, leaving Katsulas standing wide-eyed and frozen in place. His body is flushed with heat, his heart fluttering in his throat, and his mind a confused jumble of shock and desire. After a few seconds, he swallows and pulls his hood up over his head, shielding his face from the eyes of curious onlookers, and follows Scourge onto the _Prodigal Starfish_.

He readies the ship for take-off and notifies the Spaceport authorities of the _Prodigal Starfish_ 's impending departure before he goes to find Scourge. None of the others have returned to the ship just yet, and Kat finds himself hearing the words ' _you are_ wasted _on the Jedi_ ' over and over in his head.

Scourge does not get to say something like that-especially with the chin-grabbing and the deep, rumbling purr in his voice-and then just _walk away_ afterwards. This is not over.

He finds Scourge leaning against a wall in the main conference room, doubtlessly anticipating their impending holocall with Grandmaster Shan. His gaze fixes on Katsulas the moment he enters the room, and even though Scourge doesn't _say_ anything, there's still a faint smirk pulling at his full mouth and a bright, sharp gleam in his crimson eyes. "What did you mean 'I'm wasted on the Jedi'?" Katsulas asks bluntly. "You think I should be Sith?" He keeps his voice as even as possible: quiet, neutral, and guarded.

" _Naturally,_ " Scourge replies. He flicks one hand contemptuously. "The Jedi are weak. They shackle themselves voluntarily. They deliberately prune their own potential, and they mistake the result for _strength_." His upper lip curls with disdain. "I am surprised that once your Council finishes its brainwashing, any Jedi has a spine _left_ to oppose the Emperor." His red eyes fix on Katsulas's grey ones. "And then...then there is _you_."

Katsulas resists the urge to swallow nervously. He looks back with outward calm, tries not to remember the feel of Scourge's fingers curled tightly around his jawline, and waits. The Sith Lord's views on Jedi are not a surprise. He's fairly certain he knows where this is going. What he _doesn't_ expect, however, is the sudden, fierce _thrill_ that jolts through him in response to the realization that Scourge thinks he's _special_.

It's one thing to know that Lord Scourge has pledged loyalty to him because of a Vision and a supposed destiny.

It's another thing entirely to know that Scourge finds him _personally interesting_.

A slow, predatory smile widens Scourge's mouth. Katsulas blinks, unnerved. He's _certain_ he hadn't shown any reaction, but it's as though Scourge _knows_ exactly what he's been thinking. Can he _sense_ it somehow? Is his connection to the Force that strong?

Katsulas wouldn't be surprised to find out that it is.

" _You_ ," Scourge continues, "are _passionate_. Your power is immense. Your full potential trembles at your fingertips, _begging_ for release."

Katsulas does swallow then. His eyes widen very slightly, and his fingers curl into fists at his sides.

"You are young enough and strong-willed enough to shatter the feeble chains your Order has placed around you, and embrace the strength of the Sith," Scourge says. "You will _need_ that strength if you are to defeat the Emperor. All you have to do...is _let go_."

And oh, _Force_ , Katsulas wants to. For a single _blinding_ moment, he envisions letting go, casting away his inhibitions, his ties to the Jedi Order, his responsibilities and his shame, and pursuing what _he_ wants, living his life as _he_ chooses.

It doesn't last for longer than a second. He has lived through the horror of becoming Sith, of _Falling_. It doesn't matter that none of it was consensual. It doesn't matter that he didn't choose it, that the Emperor _forced_ his will upon Kat's mind. It doesn't matter that he can't remember anything more than a few vague, disjointed flashes and impressions. It doesn't matter, because Katsulas can _feel_ the scars left behind. It's in the body language of his crew, even though they don't realize it. It's in the cold that slithers through his entire being when he thinks of the Emperor's Fortress, of its sharp angles and lightless hallways. It's in the way his fingers tingle sometimes and the tendons in his wrists ache.

He's felt that ache before. Katsulas still wears gloves to hide the scars that striate his skin from his elbows all the way to his palms. He has channeled force lightning twice in his life that he can remember. He'd been ten years old the first time. The second time had been only a few months ago on an icy, deadly moon, during the same mission that had almost destroyed his knee. Both times he'd been utterly, completely mad with grief and rage.

Katsulas never wants to fall that far ever again. He will not become Sith. He has glimpsed down that path, and what he's seen there will fuel his nightmares for the rest of his life.

Scourge is still staring at him, crimson eyes bright and unblinking as he waits. He is still leaning against the wall of the conference room, arms crossed over his chest in what anyone else might have mistaken as a casual post. But Katsulas can see the tension cording through his massive shoulders. Scourge is not relaxed. He is a predator waiting with rapt focus and coiled muscles for his target to take the offered bait.

Lord Scourge may have pledged his loyalty and service to Katsulas for the time being, but that does not make him any less dangerous. It's not for the reasons his companions might think, either.

Katsulas looks at Scourge, at the powerful lines of his body and the fierce glow in his red eyes, and wants nothing more than to bolt forward, grab Scourge by the back of his neck, and drag him down for a hard, bruising kiss. Kat wants to sink his teeth down on Scourge's full lower lip, wants to _feel_ the answering snarl and maybe even taste a little bit of blood on his tongue before Scourge takes the offensive and flips them, slamming _Kat_ against the wall and-

 _No_ , Kat thinks firmly. _I can't. He's playing with me. This is about getting me to Fall, not about wanting to...to…_

He drags his eyes away. Scourge probably isn't even attracted to him. And even if he does know how much Kat wants him-even if the touches and inviting smirks and intense stares are deliberate enticement-he'd only be using that knowledge to break Kat. It's not worth the inevitable horrifying embarrassment.

So he retreats to safe ground. "If that's so," he says finally, raising his eyes back to Scourge's and measuring his words very carefully, "then explain Revan and the Exile. They were both Jedi-trained. I am Jedi-trained. All three of us resisted the Emperor. How many Sith have done the same?"

Lord Scourge frowns at him. The predatory tension in his body lessens, and Kat is able to breathe a little easier. "None," Scourge admits reluctantly. "And that...was a surprise. In three centuries, I expected to see at least _one_ test his strength against the Dark Lord, but those strong enough to challenge him were-and still are-all killed young, or else co-opted into the Dark Council."

It's frankly a surprise to Kat as well. He would have expected to hear of _one_ Sith Lord at least who had managed to challenge the Emperor. But Vitiate is...old. Older, Katsulas suspects, than _anyone_ realizes. He has not survived this long without learning how to identify and deal with threats before they even gain the potential to harm him.

"Perhaps," Scourge continues in a low murmur, "you are right. Perhaps the Jedi strengths are simply different rather than entirely lesser." Scourge's frown deepens, and his eyes narrow slightly at Katsulas. "But you still hold yourself back, Jedi. In spite of all your fiery sentiments on your Order's Council and Code, you still _obey_ that Code. Your words are just that: _words_."

Anger burns through Kat like a flashfire. His vision tunnels until all he can see is _red_ , and he does not blink, does not breathe, does not move save to clench his jaw and square his shoulders, tensing for a fight. "It's not that simple," he growls.

"Of _course_ it is," Scourge sneers.

Kat wants to punch that sneer right off Scourge's mouth. His hands have already balled into tight fists. Given another second, he might have even done it. But at that moment, the airlock door hisses open and Katsulas can sense Kira's presence shining in the Force as she walks up the stairs to the _Prodigal Starfish_ 's main deck along with Sergeant Rusk, Teeseven, and Doc.

Katsulas takes a step back and closes his eyes. He turns his back to the conference room door so that none of his other companions can see his expression before he has a chance to compose himself. Kira will still know something's wrong-she'll see it on his face if she hasn't sensed it already-but she'll wait until they're alone to bring it up. He couldn't ask for a better friend.

Scourge is still watching him from his spot against the wall. Kat can feel his red eyes burning into him, but he refuses to look. Katsulas crosses his arms stubbornly over his chest, closes his eyes, and opens his mind to the Force. He breathes steadily in and out, in and out, until he feels calmer. By the time the rest of his friends and companions join him in the conference room and he sends the holotransmission request to Grandmaster Shan, there is no trace of anger or frustration anywhere on his face or in his slender frame.

But both he and Lord Scourge know that this isn't the end of the matter.

* * *

Later, Katsulas curls up in the pilot's seat and stares out at the striated starfield as they hurtle through hyperspace towards their next destination: the space station _Korriban's Flame._ Their victory on Belsavis feels hollow now. They'd won a panicked, desperate race against time by mere _minutes_ , and while they had managed to prevent Krannus from blowing up the planet and the entire surrounding star system, the galaxy is still no safer than before. All the Emperor has to do is try again on some other world. All he has to do is succeed _once_ , and all of their efforts will have been in vain. The galaxy and everyone in it-including everyone on every planet Kat has managed to save before-will die.

And none of them have any idea where the Emperor will strike next.

Kira slides into the co-pilot's seat. Kat has his head tipped back and his eyes closed, so he can't see the way she looks at him-eyes filled with worry-but he senses it. And he's grateful for her presence. "Maybe we'll find a lead at Korriban's Flame," she says. "With so many high-ranking Sith flocking there, there's got to be a clue. Maybe Jomar Chul found something."

"If he's still alive," Kat says. "And if this isn't all an elaborate trap." He has no energy left for false hope.

"Well," Kira says slowly, "even if it is a trap, it's the only lead we have. Besides, how many times have we waded into 'obviously a trap' scenarios and come out on top?"

A small smile twitches Kat's mouth. "More times than I can count," he admits. He presses his right hand over his closed eyes and sighs. "I just...can't help the 'what ifs'. What if we find nothing. What if we don't _get_ another lead before it's too late. What if Chul is dead. He went there because of me. You heard what Grandmaster Shan said."

Kira actually snorts. "He went there out of _spite_ , Kat. He was on some personal crusade to take you down."

"He wasn't wrong, Kira. I did Fall to the dark."

"Kat, we've talked about this…"

"No, look…" Katsulas sighs and straightens in the chair, finally lifting his head up and looking at his best friend. "I know I wasn't myself. I know I was possessed and not in control. But that doesn't change the fact that I _tortured_ you. You, and Sergeant Rusk and Teeseven and Doc. You know Sergeant Rusk tenses when I approach and he's not expecting it, right? As though he needs to defend himself."

Kira looks at him in silence for a few seconds. He can't read her expression, and for a moment he wishes he could take the words back. Kira is right; they'd talked about this already, and it's starting to sound as though Kat is wallowing in self-pity.

Kira doesn't say that, though. Instead she reaches over and places a hand on Kat's arm. "It's going to take _time_ , Kat," she says softly. She meets and holds his gaze. "There's nothing anyone can do about that. No one blames you. Just remember that, give everyone time, and try not to take it personally. Okay?"

Kat manages a smile and shakes his head ruefully. "Yeah. Sorry."

Kira gives his arm a little squeeze. "It's fine. Don't worry about it." Kat thinks that's the end of the matter, but then she doesn't let go of his arm. She studies his face for a little longer, and finally she says, "But that's not the only thing that's bothering you. It's Scourge, isn't it?"

Cold horror freezes Katsulas solid, like he's been dunked in liquid nitrogen. In a moment of sheer, mind-numbing panic, he forgets that Kira had to have noticed he was upset the instant she'd re-boarded the _Prodigal Starfish_. As Scourge had been the only other person in the room, it wasn't much of a stretch to guess that he'd been the cause of the Knight's distress. But all Kat could think was: _Oh Force, she knows! I didn't want her to know! I didn't want_ anyone _to know! I'm not ready to deal with this!_

"Whoa…" Kira sucks in a sharp breath and rises from the co-pilot's seat. "So it _is_ Scourge." She purses her lips. Anger crackles in her blue eyes. "What did Sithy McEvil-face do? And you know, if you think we can do this without him, just say the word and I'll shove him out an airlock."

And just like that, Kira snaps Katsulas out of his panic. Relief floods through him as he realizes that no, she _doesn't_ know; she's just being protective of him like any good friend would be. Even as part of him recoils in horror at the thought of losing Scourge (much less _murdering_ him), he still has to chuckle at the ridiculous nickname and at the mental image of Kira punting a Sith Lord three times her size out an airlock. "Please don't," he says. "We need him to get past the Imperial security systems on Korriban's Flame. And he didn't... _do_ anything."

Kira raises an eyebrow skeptically.

"He _didn't_ ," Kat insists. "We just...have some philosophical differences."

Kira just stares at him.

Heat flushes Kat's cheeks. "I meant we had an argument," he tries to explain

"Philosophical differences?" Kira drawls. "Between a Jedi and a Sith? Crazy talk. No one will believe it in a trillion years." When Kat huffs, she pats his shoulder. "Relax. I know what you meant. And if you say we need Scourge, then we need him. Just..." She pauses and studies his face. Kat meets her eyes and hopes, desperately, that she doesn't see more than he wants her to see. "Just don't let him get to you, alright?" she says, finally. "He's over _three hundred years old_ , Kat. He hid right at the Emperor's side that whole time, and the Emperor never suspected his betrayal. I don't think any of us can even comprehend how good a manipulator he is, Kat."

"I know," Kat assures her with a smile. "I'll be careful."

Kira snorts. "That'll be a first."

Katsulas laughs.

* * *

"Jedi."

Katsulas halts just outside the cargo bay door on the lower deck. He'd been on his way to the engine room, knowing full well that he won't be able to sleep anywhere else. But if he's going to be entirely honest with himself, maybe he'd also been hoping for Scourge to stop him. For an excuse to finish their earlier argument. _Maybe,_ Katsulas thinks, _Scourge even knew it, too._

"Lord Scourge." Katsulas turns his head to look into the cargo bay.

Scourge is standing in clear view, arms crossed over his chest in what is becoming a very familiar pose. "I would speak with you, Jedi. Come here."

 _Make me_ , Katsulas wants to say. Instead, he raises an eyebrow and waits three full seconds without breaking eye contact before he finally turns and steps into the room.

The tiniest twitch of Scourge's mouth is the only acknowledgement Katsulas receives for his small and admittedly childish display of defiance. Kat can't tell if Scourge is irritated or amused. Neither emotion shows in his voice when he speaks. "I have been thinking of how to explain to you the true nature of the Emperor and the threat he poses."

This...is not what Katsulas had expected. He frowns."You know, I'm pretty sure Belsavis made it fairly clear enough. He wants to literally destroy the entire galaxy. I think I get it."

But Scourge shakes his head. "You cling to your Code, Jedi, in spite of what you say. You obey your High Council's wishes. And you Jedi are so fond of _mercy_." Scourge sneers the last word. Kat bristles defensively, but before he can say anything, Scourge continues, harsh and insistent. "You still see the Sith Emperor as a man. A man with incomprehensible power, but a man nevertheless, mortal in every aspect save for his extended lifespan."

Kat frowns and crosses his arms. He taps his fingers impatiently, unsure where exactly Scourge is going with this.

" _That_ is the illusion," Scourge insists. "For our extended lifespans-our crafted immortality-comes at a terrible price. The Emperor and I have lost the ability to feel."

At first, Kat doesn't quite understand. He waits for the rest of the sentence, but Scourge simply watches him, unblinking red eyes never leaving Kat's own. When understanding does come, it creeps in like the early stages of a sickness: slow, unwanted, and inescapable. Kat draws in a sharp, shaky breath. "At all? Anything?"

Scourge nods once. "It is a side-effect of the ritual the Emperor used. I can no longer feel joy or anger. I cannot relish the taste of food on my tongue or another's touch upon my skin. The Emperor's Ritual grants eternal life at the cost of everything that gives life meaning. It is a _hollow_ life, Jedi. Do you understand?"

Katsulas can only stare in dismay at first. Finally, he shakes his head minutely. "No, I don't-I don't understand. _Why_ , why would he choose that?" What he can't bring himself to ask is: _and did you know about the cost when you agreed to his ritual?_

"Because that is the kind of abomination he is. The Emperor is not a man, Jedi. He is no longer mortal. He is a _disease_ , a monster in the purest sense of the word. For him, the sacrifice is a meaningless one. He does not know regret, Jedi. He does not know mercy. He cannot change. If you face him with any thoughts of mercy or redemption in your heart, you will _fail_ , and he will destroy us all."

"Believe me," Katsulas says firmly, "I have _no_ such delusions. I'm not Master Tol Braga. I'm not arrogant enough, foolish enough, or forgiving enough to make that mistake. I will _kill_ the Emperor, and I will not hesitate."

Scourge does not answer right away. He studies the Knight and, unconvinced, finally asks: "And what if the Council demands otherwise?"

"I doubt any of them will be with me when I face the Emperor. They won't exactly be in a position to force me."

"So you would defy them?"

Kat grits his teeth and tries not to lose his patience. "Isn't that what I just said?"

"I thought," Scourge says in a deceptively soft, even tone, "you said that defying the Council is ''not that simple'."

 _So_ that's _what this is about_ , Kat thinks furiously. He takes a step towards Scourge, fists balled at his sides and shoulders stiff. "Those are two separate issues. If your only concern is my ability to defeat the Emperor, then teach me the _relevant information_. Train me to _fight_ him. But don't waste time trying to get me to Fall. I do not need to become Sith to be strong enough. If you doubt my resolve and my word isn't good enough for you, then why are you still here?"

Something flashes in Scourge's red eyes then. Something bright and visceral. In anyone else, Kat would have guessed _anger_ , but hadn't Scourge just told him that he can't feel anger anymore?

_No longer feel joy or anger...or enjoy another's touch upon my skin…_

All the small touches, the subtle invitations and temptations...they had all been lies, just as Kat had suspected. It still hurts more than Kat would have believed possible to have that suspicion confirmed.

If only that made it easier for Kat to stop wanting Scourge. The desire is just as strong as ever, especially now with Scourge standing close enough that Kat can almost feel the heat of his body.

"You still don't understand," Scourge growls. Kat hears in his voice the same sharp, visceral edge that had flashed in his eyes. Scourge's voice is rougher than usual. Kat hears a low creaking noise, but he can't quite place the source. "How do you _still_ not understand?"

The creaking noise continues. Kat frowns and drops his eyes from Scourge's face to find the source, but the instant he does so, it stops. _Odd_ , Kat thinks. It's when he looks back up at Scourge's face that he finally sees what he'd failed to notice before; Scourge _is_ angry. He's _furious_.

Kat's grey eyes narrow and his head tilts. His posture shifts from stiff defensiveness to fluid, predatory caution in an instant. The change does not go unnoticed, though outwardly Scourge doesn't appear to react. "I thought you said you can't feel anger," Kat accuses.

Scourge stares at him in silence. Finally, he snarls quietly: "For nearly three hundred years, I have not felt _anything_ , Jedi. Nothing. Mild irritation, perhaps, at most. I am _Sith_ , and my passions were _stolen_ from me. Think upon what I have told you with that in mind."

Kat opens his mouth, but stops when Scourge makes a sharp, vicious slicing motion with one gauntleted hand. "No. Enough. We are done. Go, Jedi. Rest, and think on what I have told you."

Kat _wants_ to argue. He wants to goad Scourge into a fight, wants to see the anger he _knows_ is there build and build until Scourge finally explodes with it. Kat wants to feel Scourge's hands on him, wants to record Scourge's fingerprints in bruises on his dark skin. And it'll be fine, because Kat will fight right back and give just as good as he gets.

At least, right up until the point where Scourge pins him down.

Katsulas lets out a slow breath and takes a deliberate step backwards, away from the tall, irritated Bad Idea. "Fine. Have it your way, then."

"Oh, if _only_."

Katsulas swallows and leaves the room while he still has the will to do so.

* * *

While he doesn't manage to make sense of anything Scourge had told him (too many contradictions, too many things Scourge isn't telling him, too many ulterior motives possible), Katsulas _does_ manage to rest for the first time in days. He's alert and refreshed. Sleep has brushed away the cobwebs tangling his thoughts. As they approach the Korriban's Flame, he realizes that he _knows_ they will find what they need here. Someone or something on that space station will lead them to the Emperor's next target.

But someone or something there also wants Katsulas and all of his companions very, very dead. It's a trap, but it's one they have to spring.

That doesn't mean they're going to make it easy for whoever waits for them.

Scourge inputs a series of security codes for the demanding Imperial officer. The man trips over his own tongue in his attempts to placate what he believes is a Grand Moff, coming for surprise security inspections. There's irony in there somewhere, Kat is sure of it.

"For the moment, they believe I am Grand Moff Resh," Scourge says as he steps away from the console. "But this ruse will not hold." Scourge's red eyes narrow, and Kat already knows he's not going to like what Scourge says next. "You must be prepared to kill _everyone_."

Katsulas glares at Scourge and fights to keep his temper even. It's easier to do on a full sleep cycle. He no longer feels like sandpaper has scrubbed his skin raw. "We're not killing _everyone_ , Scourge. Only when we have to. Besides, from a _practical_ standpoint, killing literally everyone will make it a tad difficult to find any new information."

Scourge slices a hand through the air in front of him impatiently, and irritation sharpens his voice as he snaps, "So _cripple_ those you think might have information, and kill the _rest!_ It is not so difficult. Our presence will not remain a secret, Jedi. Don't waste any time; destroy the enemy while you still have the element of surprise!"

"Scourge?" Katsulas smiles at him, head tilted slightly to the side.

Scourge looks at him.

"Eat me."

* * *

Kat isn't sure _why_ he brings Scourge along with him after that, but he does. Between the former Wrath's knowledge of Imperial security and Kira's savant slicing skills, they manage to actually spring the main trap before anyone else in the space station knows they're even there.

The fact that this is all a trap isn't news. Kat had been expecting this.

What he doesn't expect is Leeha Narezz.

Of all the members of the Jedi strike team sent to infiltrate the Emperor's Fortress, none had managed to escape. Katsulas should have guessed based on what had happened to himself there. He was the only one lucky enough to have Master Orgus Din's ghost break him free from the Emperor's spell.

Jomar Chul is present, too. A hostage. Kat is just as stunned as Kira when Leeha tells him in a purr the true nature of their relationship. He hears Scourge murmur his approval, and Kat's fingers tighten around the hilts of his lightsabers. _This is why Jedi break_ , Kat thinks. _Because of course we fall in love, of course we want intimacy with other beings. And then to have to_ hide _that, like it's something aberrant-_

-like what Kat feels for Scourge.

Kat drowns his pain and anger in the movements of battle, where nothing else matters but the lethal dance of blades and the whisper of the Force, nudging him in the right direction, just ahead of Leeha's every attack.

Kira and Scourge disable the mad Jedi Master's droids seconds before Kat drops the Master herself with a roundhouse kick square to her jaw. When she comes to, she's...herself again.

Small miracles. No one else will have to die today.

Leeha tells him everything he needs to know. He's never even heard of the planet Voss before, and he suspects that might be the point. Grandmaster Shan will know more, he's certain. He only hopes they won't be too late.

As Kat turns to head back to the ship before more Imperials decide to show up, Jomar stops him. "Wait! Wait. I…"

Kat stops, turns, and looks at him.

Jomar lowers his outstretched hand, but holds his gaze pleadingly. "I know I don't have the right to ask you anything, but…please. The Council doesn't need to know about Leeha and I. You won't tell them, will you?"

Katsulas aches for them both. He aches for everyone in the same position as Leeha and Jomar, and he _knows_ there are others out there: lovers in secret, hiding and afraid. He aches for those like himself, too; Jedi too afraid or too ashamed to even try pursuing happiness, even when it's standing right in front of them.

 _But it's not always so simple_ , he reminds himself. He very deliberately does _not_ think of Scourge.

"Of course I won't tell them," Kat assures Jomar. "I've never agreed with the ban on attachments. It's stupid. It drives lonely Jedi to desperation." He shakes his head. "Enjoy what you have with one another. It's worth it."

Jomar smiles. He gives Leeha a gentle squeeze as he helps her to her feet. "Thank you."

Kat just nods. "You have a way out?"

"Yeah."

"Then hurry."

They dispatch a couple of Imperial scout groups on the way back to the shuttle. Kat and Kira try to leave as many of them alive and merely unconscious as possible, but Scourge shows no such restraint. _It's in his nature_ , Kat tells himself. _And it's my own fault for bringing him along_. _I should have known better._

He _had_ known better, in fact. But he'd ignored his better judgement, and now more people are dead because of it.

 _Never forget what he is_ , Katsulas tells himself as the airlock doors hiss shut behind them and the _Prodigal Starfish_ punches through a swarm of Imperial fighters to the safety of hyperspace. _He's ruthless. Cold. Dangerous. He's Sith, and his only interest in you is in turning you Dark._

But no matter how many times Kat tells himself this, he can't stop remembering how those strong fingers felt around his jaw.

* * *

Katsulas doesn't expect Scourge to seek him out. Up until now, Scourge has been content to wait for Kat to come to him. But Kat isn't in the mood for another argument, and he doesn't need another reminder of why he's failing as a Jedi. He goes to the training room instead.

He isn't sure how long he's been at it when he hears the door swish open again. His muscles are starting to ache pleasantly, so it must have been an hour or two at least. Kat sweeps through the last stances in his kata and powers down his lightsaber. He doesn't turn towards the door; he already knows who's waiting there. Scourge's presence in the Force still feels like a blaster bolt in the brain: red and smouldering and difficult to think around. "Do you need something, Lord Scourge?" Kat asks.

Armor creaks and shifts as Scourge makes his way across the training room towards Kat. "I've realized something about your Jedi Council," he says.

Kat turns to look at him then. Scourge stops a few feet away from him, his red eyes pinning Kat like an insect to a display table. "Have you?" Kat says evenly.

"The two Jedi, the...lovers," Scourge continues. He _lingers_ on the word 'lovers' as though savoring it. His eyes never leave Kat, and Kat feels his heartbeat quickening. It's _deliberate_. It has to be. "They defied the Jedi Council. And yet they have done so in secret. In a way, they have become prisoners to their Council to an even greater extent. Their fear of discovery...it gives their Council control over them."

Kat stares up at Scourge. This is the last subject he wants to talk about with Scourge. He doesn't want another argument about the Jedi and attachments and rules. He doesn't want to watch Scourge's mouth moving or listen to his soft, rich purr of a voice. He wants to go back to training-a simple, straightforward activity that involves very little frustration and zero thoughts of kissing anyone. "Not...exactly what I expected to hear you say," he admits. "I thought you'd have been pleased that they gave in to their desires."

"I am," Scourge says. He begins to pace in a slow circle around Katsulas. "But what I did not understand before is _why_ your Council tries to control your attachments. Controlling your anger, I understand at least. But why control your _pleasure?_ "

Katsulas swallows and says nothing. He wishes, desperately, that this conversation weren't happening. He wishes Scourge would stop pacing around him like a predator about to devour its favourite prey.

"And now I finally do understand. It isn't about making the Jedi stronger," Scourge purrs, still circling. "It's about _controlling_ them. Controlling them, and channeling the anger and frustration that follows. Pleasure is _such_ a powerful motivator, little Jedi. Pleasure is the foundation of all other desires."

Katsulas closes his eyes and swallows again. _It's all a trick, it's all a trap. He doesn't really want you. He just wants to fluster you, and he's succeeding. Come on, you're better than this. You're stronger than this._

But he also _wants_ this so, so badly. He wants Scourge's mouth on him, purring those sinful words against his dark skin. He wants Scourge's fingertips clawing bruises down his back and over his hips. He wants Scourge to kiss him hard-kiss the _breath_ out of him-and then make him scream and gasp and _beg_. He wants that full, red mouth to drink in all of his cries, and then curve into a _smirk._ Kat wants to bite that full lower lip, wants to feel the resulting _snarl_ reverberate through his entire body. He wants Scourge's strong hands to slide down from his hips and over his ass to grip his thighs and _lift_ him off the ground. He wants-

 _I want what I can't have_ , Katsulas tells himself firmly. He opens his eyes. Scourge has stopped pacing and is standing in front of him, red eyes wide and bright with...eagerness? Katsulas swallows and meets them as calmly and dispassionately as he can manage.

The bright eagerness in Scourge's eyes flickers and dims with something very like disappointment. Kat wonders what he'd been hoping for. "There is nothing," Scourge murmurs, "that inspires so much _anger_ as thwarted longing. I still remember what I have lost. What pleasure, love, and lust once felt like. I would do _anything_ to feel so intensely once more. _Anything_ , Jedi."

He pauses, as though to let that sink in. Kat still doesn't quite understand what game Scourge is playing, because it's clear to him that Scourge _does_ feel. He's shown anger, frustration, and even savage glee.

And yet...Katsulas can still sense the truth in Scourge's words. He isn't lying. Kat just doesn't know how to reconcile that knowledge with what he's _seen_.

"I understand why your Council controls you, Jedi," Scourge goes on after a few seconds. "What I'll _never_ comprehend is why you _let them_."

And in that instant, as though proving the truth of Scourge's words, all of Kat's desire and longing transforms instantly into pure _rage_.

How dare he. How _dare_ he! Katsulas's hands squeeze tightly enough around his saber hilts to chase the blood from his fingers. Tension sharpens the lines of his jaw and arms. Anger crackles like a lightning storm in his grey eyes. "It's not that simple," he grits out. "It's _never_ been that simple."

"Of _course_ it has," Scourge sneers, just as he had last time.

Only _this_ time there's no one else around to stop the chain reaction, to prevent Kat's fury from exploding outward like a nova. "I _don't_ let them control me!" Katsulas shouted. "I'm not some stoic husk that hides all of his emotions! I'm angry! I feel passion! I make attachments! I have my own fucking Code, if you've somehow forgotten that!"

Scourge's voice is a silken purr of pure disdain when he leans slightly forward and says, "Talk. You're nothing but _talk_ , Jedi. All words, no _action_. You mutter discontent, you speak of attachments, but for all your passionate speeches, you've never so much as reached out for what you _really_ want, like a cowa-"

Katsulas _screams_. The air sizzles as his lightsabers ignite with twin shrieks. " _Fuck you!_ You want more than words? _Fine!_ Do you want to fucking _go?_ "

Scourge smiles as he takes a slow, measured step back and draws his own lightsaber in a single, fluid motion. "Always quick to fight," he murmurs, "but you're really just running away from facing uncomfortable truths."

Twin violet blades crackle against Scourge's single red one. Katsulas moves in a blur, attacking with vicious, lightning-quick strikes. His anger doesn't make him sloppy; it sharpens him, quickens him, and he feels a thrill of savage vindication as he sees Scourge's features tighten into a scowl of concentration. Scourge takes another step back, feet coming close together in an obvious bait to lure Kat into charging. He circles, moving backwards, but always just a little to the left, blocking and evading each of Katsulas's furious attacks with no room and no effort made to strike out in retaliation. Kat presses his assault, pushing Scourge further back towards the walls of the training room.

Something whispers in the back of Kat's mind that this is wrong, that Scourge _should_ be attacking back, that something isn't right, but he ignores it. Kat feints at his neck with his right hand and drops to sweep his legs out from under him with his left. Scourge's mouth twitches into a smirk, he leans back, easily evading the initial swipe. Kat has a half beat to regret his choices before his opponent's left boot comes up and catches him square in the chest, launching him backwards. With his foot off the ground, Scourge is off balance, if only for a moment. But a moment is all it takes. Kat pushes off the ground and launches himself forward. He darts in, presses his assault and comes in close, intending to bring the edge of his blade close to Scourge's throat and force a surrender.

It's a mistake.

Scourge's shin catches him just below his ribcage, using all of his momentum against him. The wind explodes from Kat's lungs as he's flung across the room. He slams hard into the opposite wall and crumples, catching himself on hands and knees. He looks up just in time to see Scourge flying through the air at him, lightsaber humming. Kat throws himself to the side, rolls, and comes up on his knees in time to catch Scourge's downward swing with both of his sabers.

But Scourge is incredibly strong, and all of that considerable might is focused into both hands on his one single saber, while Kat's strength is divided with one hand on each of his two weapons. The _only_ saving grace is that he doesn't think Scourge will kill him. Scourge still _needs_ him, after all. But that doesn't make the immediate situation any less urgent. Katsulas drops one arm, letting Scourge's lightsaber slide down his own, and then clicks his downed saber off long enough to sock Scourge in the jaw. He twists out of the lock and back to his feet, both lightsabers reignited and ready to press his advantage before Scourge can get back on his feet properly.

But Scourge is a skilled fighter; he moves _with_ the punch, shifting his right leg back and settling into a balanced, anchored stance. The saber in his left hand is already held forward at Kat, and that's what Kat expects him to attack with. He's ready for Scourge to lunge at him.

He's _not_ ready for Scourge's _right_ hand to lash out, palm open, and for the invisible steely pressure that closes vice-like around his throat and yanks him forward off his feet, straight into Scourge's waiting grasp.

Scourge's fingers close around Kat's neck. Then he spins and slams his much smaller opponent against the wall, pinning him there by his throat. Kat chokes and brings his right lightsaber up, instinctively moving to sever the hand holding him.

And he catches himself just in time, his blade humming a bare inch from Scourge's wrist.

Cold horror ices through Katsulas as the reality of what he'd almost done sinks home. He'd never wanted to truly _harm_ Scourge, not even in his moments of greatest fury. He'd wanted to force a surrender from Scourge, to make him yield and submit, to knock him off his high podium. Not _sever a hand_.

" _Weakness_ ," Lord Scourge hisses savagely. He knocks the saber away from his wrist and locks it with his own, still holding Katsulas to the wall by his throat. "You cannot truly defeat me without harming me, but your _sentiment_ for me has collared you. Your threats mean _nothing_ if you are not prepared to _follow through_."

Kat's grey eyes flash with anger. He can't breathe and his right saber is pinned out of the way, but he's a _Jedi_ and his left arm is still free. With an inarticulate, strangled snarl of rage, Katsulas swipes his saber at the side of Scourge's neck. Scourge may have been willing to risk losing his hand to make a point-hands are easily replaced these days-but he _won't_ be willing to gamble with his _life_.

But Scourge doesn't drop him. He shows no sign of fear, no surprise or worry or hesitation.

Instead, Scourge steps _into_ him, pinning Katsulas to the wall with the force of his own body. His fingers move from the trapped Jedi's throat to grasp his jaw. Scourge tilts Kat's head up and kisses him full on the mouth.

Katsulas goes still with shock. His left arm, still extended out and over Scourge's shoulder now, trembles and falters, frozen in mid-swing.

Scourge is _kissing_ him.

It isn't a soft, gentle kiss, either. Scourge's mouth is harsh and demanding, full warm lips plying Kat's mouth slightly open only to sink his teeth into Kat's lower lip. Kat gasps, and he feels Scourge's hand tighten around his jaw and his body press him even more tightly against the wall. Scourge deepens the kiss, tugging and licking at his lips and coaxing his tongue into Kat's mouth. He kisses Kat like he wants to _devour_ him, and all Kat can do in response amidst the haze of desire and shock is make soft, shuddering sounds of pure _need_ against Scourge's mouth.

He has forgotten about the lightsabers he still holds loosely in his numb fingers. He has forgotten that this was a _fight_ only ten seconds ago.

He forgets until Scourge's left arm shifts and something hard presses into his ribs. Katsulas tenses. Scourge breaks the kiss and pulls just a breath away, still close enough that his lips brush against the Knight's when he speaks: "A mere _kiss_ incapacitates you, Jedi. How can you claim strength and control when you cannot keep your wits about you for a simple kiss?"

Then Scourge pulls his head back a little more-just enough for Katsulas to glance downward and see the hilt of Scourge's deactivated lightsaber pressing against his ribs.

Kat stares down at it. _This was just to make a point_ , he realizes numbly. _It was calculated. It didn't mean anything. He was just using me to make a point._

Something vital fractures deep within Katsulas. A cold, sickening ache seeps outwards from the center of his chest, where despair and misery crush him like a black hole: massive, inescapable, and lightless. It hurts to breathe.

Kat looks up at Scourge and into his red eyes. A pathetic, broken noise chokes out of Kat's throat and his expression crumples. He deactivates his lightsabers and _drops_ them. They clatter useless and forgotten to the floor as Katsulas grabs the back of Scourge's head and yanks him down for another kiss. Some part of him knows he should be _livid_ , but he just feels empty, cold, and miserable. He wants desperately to not _think_ anymore.

It's an inept kiss. Kat is awkward and too forceful because he has no idea what he's doing, and Scourge is too stunned at first to respond and take control. But when Kat bites Scourge's lower lip perhaps a little more sharply than he should have, Scourge snaps out of his shock and grabs Katsulas's head with both of his hands. His fingers tighten in Kat's hair, eliciting a breathless, needy cry from the Knight. Scourge drinks in his sounds like a man dying of thirst, deepening the kiss and drawing unbroken streams of soft gasps from the pinned man.

One of Scourge's massive hands moves from Kat's hair down to his hip. Sharp, electric heat floods through Katsulas and pools in his belly. He shudders and lets out a soft whimper, muffled against Scourge's mouth. Kat's spine arches slightly as his hips jerk forward against Scourge's body. He is _achingly_ hard already, and there's no possible way Scourge is unaware of that fact, pressed as tightly together as they are. Scourge actually _growls_ and shifts Kat a few inches higher against the wall-enough for Kat to wrap his legs around Scourge's waist if he wants to, and enough for Scourge to kiss and bite at the pulse point beneath Kat's jaw. The hand on Kat's hip is tight enough to _bruise_.

Katsulas has dreamed of this. Fantasized of _exactly_ this happening, down to Scourge's teeth grazing his throat and the hand in his hair and on his hip. Scourge smells like hot desert sand and smoke. He feels like _fire_ -fierce and all-consuming-and Katsulas burns beneath his touch.

Katsulas can't remember ever wanting anyone else this badly in his _life_. It's perfect, it's exactly what he's wanted, and he wonders how Scourge could have possibly known his desires so well.

And the thought sticks.

His very first kiss had been calculated to make a _point_. Scourge had manipulated him then, goaded him into a fight and taken advantage of his desperate craving for affection to win a fucking _argument_. What if this was just more of the same?

_I don't think any of us can even comprehend how good a manipulator he is, Kat. Be careful._

Katsulas shoves away all of his desire with a practiced vehemence that only fury and thirteen years among the Jedi can accomplish. He snarls and gathers raw _power_ from the Force. Before Scourge can even process the sudden shift, that power slams into him; he is thrown across the training room and into the opposite wall. Scourge falls to his hands and knees, reeling.

Shame, misery, hurt, and despair churn sickeningly in the pit of Kat's stomach. His hands are shaking as he clenches them at his sides. He avoids looking at Scourge. He can barely see through the red in his vision anyway. Nausea claws at the back of his throat. Katsulas wants to be _anywhere_ but here. He wants to stop _existing_. "Don't ever use me like that again," Katsulas grits out. "Don't fucking touch me."

And then he storms- _literally_ , with sparks crackling at his fingertips and static in his hair-out of the room, still shaking and trying desperately to hold himself together until he can barricade himself in his quarters. He doesn't even realize that his lightsabers are still on the floor where he'd dropped them. He flees like a blind, wounded animal.

Scourge watches him go and doesn't try to stop him.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While en route to Voss, Lord Scourge is forced to re-evaluate his tactics with regards to Katsulas, and Katsulas experiences his worst night yet since leaving the Emperor's Fortress. Also featuring Kira as the galaxy’s most phenomenal friend ever, and Doc as Actually A Doctor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I never intended to take this long, but since my last update I have: had emergency spine surgery, lost my job, gotten married, and gotten a new job. So it's been... an adventure. Hopefully the fact that this chapter is 13,000 words long (making it the longest yet) will make up for some of the delay. I've also written 4 other works in this series since last updating, so if you haven't checked the Striations series link in a long time, you might consider doing so!
> 
>  **Caution:** This chapter contains a very, very detailed description of a traumatic flashback. If reading that sort of thing has the potential to put you in a bad place, please be careful and put your own safety first.
> 
> I have increased the rating of this story to Explicit, not due to any content in this chapter, but because I realized that it _should_ have been rated Explicit ever since chapter 2. And because I fully intend later chapters to include explicit sexual content. So, there's that.

Lord Scourge remains crouched on the floor of the training room for a full minute as he evaluates what, precisely, just happened. He’d studied the Knight carefully enough to know exactly how to goad him into a fight—a fight that Scourge had also known exactly how to _win_. The same trick will not work twice, of course (he will never again win another such duel on even footing), but that doesn’t matter. He’d spotted a weakness that the Knight had refused to acknowledge in himself, and had forced him to confront it. That had been the point.

But that hadn’t been the _only_ point.

Scourge looks at the pair of discarded lightsabers lying on the training mat, and then lifts his gaze to the wall above them. He remembers _vividly_ how it had felt to pin Katsulas there, with his small, lean frame pliant and shuddering with desire against him. He remembers the soft, wet warmth of Katsulas’s mouth, and the way his body had jerked and arched when Scourge had slipped his tongue inside. He remembers drinking in his flood of emotions, feeling saturated with them as though they were his _own_.

He remembers a heat beginning to pool in his lower belly that, for the first time in centuries, had nothing to do with pain. He remembers their hips pressing so tightly together that he could feel the hard swell of Katsulas’s erection. He remembers feeling that same arousal spark in _himself_ , as though the act of pressing Kat to him had finally completed a circuit that had been broken for over 300 years.

Scourge had felt so _alive._ He’d felt _Sith_ again. And he would have fucked Katsulas right then and there against the wall if only—

Red, hot anger curls in his belly, mingling with the arousal he still feels even minutes after the Knight’s departure. Scourge clenches his fists together. His plasteel gloves creak. He inhales slowly with his teeth clenched together. Katsulas had been so _willing_. Desperate, even. Enough so that Scourge had thought of him as _Katsulas_ , not as ‘the Knight’ or ‘the Jedi’ from his visions. It does not happen often, but sometimes the Knight succumbs to frustration and anger and _desire_ , and in those moments he is no longer ‘the Knight’. In those moments, he is _Katsulas_ : the man beneath the Jedi trappings, and a man who is interesting beyond his capacity as a tool.

Scourge looks down again at the twin sabers lying on the floor, and he knows that his frustration is his own damn fault. Before anger had struck the Knight, before he’d thrown Scourge across the room, the bitter taste of shame, misery, and cold, gut-wrenching _despair_ had spoiled his otherwise exquisite passions.

_‘Don’t ever use me like that again. Don’t fucking touch me.’_

Scourge stands and walks over to the lightsabers. He plucks them off the floor with a thought and tucks them into his belt. Twenty yards away and one deck up in his personal quarters, the Knight bleeds anger and misery.

It’s been a very long time since Scourge has apologized to _anyone_. And while he does not regret his actions per se, he does (for purely selfish reasons) regret underestimating the sheer magnitude and depth of the Knight’s repression. There is more going on here than typical Jedi obstination.

Scourge doesn’t quite make it to the Knight’s quarters before Carsen finds him. She stands in his way on the steps up to the conference room, her doublesaber in her hands and radiating anger. She, too, is utterly wasted on the Jedi Order. Although… she _had_ been a Jedi Padawan, steeped in their teachings, when she’d thrown off the Emperor’s control over her mind. She had broken her chains and won her freedom; it had been her right to do what she pleased with that freedom. _She_ , at least, has earned a modicum of his respect.

As he drinks in her anger, however, Scourge still thinks she’d made a mistake in joining the Jedi. “I need to speak with Knight Katsulas,” he says calmly.

“Yeah, I don’t think so,” Kira snaps. “What did you _do_ to him, Sith?”

“He is unharmed,” Scourge replies. He crosses his arms over his chest and frowns down at her. “Beyond that, the matter is between the Knight and myself.”

Kira’s fingers shift into a more secure grip on her double saber and she anchors her stance. “You actually expect me to buy that?” she scoffs. “He’s more than just my master or my partner; he’s my _friend_ , and if you think I’m just going to stand by and _watch_ as you—”

Scourge cuts her off with a dismissive wave of his hand. “As enjoyable as your anger is, _Jedi_ , this display is unnecessary and pointless. Your threats mean nothing. You will not strike me down. You _need_ me in order to stop the Emperor.”

“Yeah, but _you_ don’t need all of your limbs for that.”

Scourge grins slow and wide, showing his teeth. “Such _rage_. You draw strength from your hatred. What would your beloved Jedi Council think if they could see you now? Either make good on your threats or stand aside.”

Kira’s cheeks flush and her mouth thins, but she neither retreats nor attacks. She holds her ground and glares at him. “Go hump a sarlaac. _If_ Kat decides he wants to talk to you, he’ll find you when he’s good and ready. Now beat it.”

The subtle creak of shifting armor and the soft whine of a power cell being charged announce the chagrian soldier’s arrival before he speaks up from his position by the wall to Scourge’s right. “Just say the word, Master Jedi, and I’ll riddle this Sith full of holes.”

“Stand by, Sergeant.” Kira is smiling again, confident and defiant.

Scourge’s red eyes narrow. He considers dealing with the trooper and _making_ Kira move, but quickly decides against it. Any action he takes against Kira or Rusk will only make matters worse with the Knight, possibly even alienating him permanently. Scourge cannot risk that. “Fine,” he says. “Then will you at least deliver a message to him?”

“Depends on the message.”

“Tell him that I wish to make amends,” Scourge says. He savors the brief surprise that spikes in Kira. Then her eyes narrow with suspicion. Scourge does not elaborate, however; instead, he merely adds: “He knows where to find me.” With that, Scourge turns and strides back towards the lower deck. He pauses at the top of the stairs, however, and looks over at Kira. Smirking, he adds: “Additionally, tell him that I have his lightsabers.”

“You— _what?_ Are—are you seriously _holding his sabers hostage?_ ” Kira raises her voice as Scourge disappears from her view down the stairs. “Wow, I didn’t realize that making you immortal also involved turning you into a _gigantic, petty infant_.”

Scourge ignores her. The Knight will receive his messages, and that’s all that matters. He will have have no choice but to speak with Scourge before they disembark on Voss, regardless of his feelings on the matter.

Returning to the cargo bay, Scourge picks up a datapad and settles in to wait.

 

* * *

 

“He’s too dangerous to be allowed free roam of the ship,” Rusk comments, still fingering the trigger of his assault cannon as he eyes the stairs leading below deck.

Kira sighs and returns her dualsaber to her belt. “Hey, I’m right there with you. But, the Boss says otherwise.”

Rusk shakes his head and shoulders his cannon. “How is Master Katsulas?”

“That’s what I’m about to find out. Guard the stairs, just in case our least favourite overgrown lobster decides to make another attempt, okay?”

“It will be my pleasure, Master Jedi.”

Katsulas doesn’t respond after Kira’s first knock. She tries again, and whispers, “Kaaaat, it’s your favourite padawan. Can I come in?”

Seconds pass without a response, and Kira’s about to give up and try again later when she hears a click. The lock flashes green for an instant. Kira sighs with relief and goes inside.

Katsulas is sitting hunched on his bed, his knees drawn up to his chin and his arms curled tightly around his stomach as though he’s about to be sick. She’s seen him like this many times before, usually in the pilot’s seat staring out into the striated starfield. But this time he doesn’t give her even a weak or forced smile when she enters. He doesn’t even look up at her. “Hey,” he croaks softly.

Kira closes the door behind her and sits down on the edge of the bed next to him. She curls an arm loosely around his shoulders and strokes his upper arm soothingly while she tries to think of what to say.

This is _bad_. She’s seen Kat’s depressive episodes before, though she’s not sure he’s even aware of what they are, and she’s helped him through them as best she could. But this...this is something different. He’s rocking back and forth very slightly, and his fingers keep scratching up and down over one shin. He doesn’t say anything, but he does lean slightly against her, which Kira takes as an encouraging sign. She cards her fingers soothingly through his hair and rubs the back of his neck, and _that’s_ when she notices the bruises.

They’re hard to spot against Kat’s dark brown skin, but a half-circle of black bruises is visible wrapping around the sides of his neck from his throat. The side facing Kira bears the distinct imprint of a thumb.

Kira feels cold. She exhales slowly and resists the urge to storm out and recruit Rusk’s assistance with riddling Scourge full of plasma holes. That can come _later_. Right now, her best friend needs her.

Kira brushes the tip of her index finger along the darkest part of the bruise. “Kat?” she asks quietly.

That finally prompts a response. “It’s from the fight.” Kat’s voice is rough and quiet. “With Scourge. That I started. It’s not… the bruises are fine.”

Kira considers this carefully before she speaks again. A mere _fight_ wouldn’t have her best friend this shaken. Bruises, burns, cuts, and fractures don’t break Katsulas. No, Kira already knows it wasn’t the fight itself that caused this, but something that happened _during_ the fight. Something Scourge said or did to Kat. Kira lifts her fingertips from the bruising on Kat’s neck to the hairline above his temple. “What did he do?” she asks.

Kat shrugs his right shoulder. “Held me to the wall by my throat. I’m fine.” His expression doesn’t change.

“No,” Kira says slowly as she shakes her head. “No, I mean, what did he do to shake you up this badly?” When Kat doesn’t answer, she gently squeezes her arm around his shoulders and adds: “Come on, Kat. I know something else happened. I’ve never seen you this shaken up before. It’s okay. You can tell me. You’re my _friend_.”

Katsulas squeezes his eyes tightly shut and bites his lower lip. His shoulders hunch, and then slump in defeat. Kira doesn’t know it, but those are the magic words: ‘you’re _my_ friend’ instead of ‘I’m _your_ friend’. The latter could change the instant he tells her the truth. But he’s reminded now that she, too, only has one real friend, and that friend is _him_. If he closes off and shuts her out, isn’t he wronging her?

All Kira knows, however, is that once those words leave her lips, Katsulas seems to _crumple_. For a moment, she’s afraid she’s said something horribly wrong and her mind works frantically to think of what it could possibly have been, but then Katsulas looks up at her for the first time since she’d entered the room. His pale grey eyes are filled with a wet brightness, but even more troubling than the telltale sign of tears is the glimmer of _fear_. Kira’s own eyes widen, and she cups his cheek. “Kat?”

“He kissed me.”

Kira doesn’t move. Her lips part slightly and a chill prickles her arms and the back of her neck.

Katsulas squeezes his eyes shut again as his features crumple. He presses his face to his bent knees and curls his arms around his head like the walls of a fortress. Kira almost can’t make out his next words as he mumbles them in a voice choked with anguish. “And while it was happening, I _wanted_ it. I wanted _him_. I… I have since he joined us. I still do. And I _hate_ myself for it, Kira, I hate this so _much_ —”

Kira swallows her rage down into a cold, hard, seething mass in the pit of her chest. She squeezes her arms more tightly around Kat’s shoulders and curls over him. The point of her chin rests on his soft black hair. He smells like caff and metal oil. “Kat,” she whispers calmly, “is he making you feel this way? Is he influencing your emotions? I’ll _kill_ him if he is, by the Force.”

It’s the wrong thing to say. Kira knows this instantly by the way Katsulas goes abruptly still in her arms before squeezing himself into an even tighter ball. “No,” he whispers miserably. “No, that’s not… Kira, I… I like men. I like _men_ , and I’ve… I’ve never…”

Kira’s first thought is: _‘Okay, good to know, but that’s not what I asked.’_

And then she remembers where Katsulas was raised and _how_ he was raised—in relative isolation with those around him telling him that _all_ attachment is wrong—and she thinks, _‘Oh. Oh, Kat.’_

After a good long five seconds of silence, Kira says, “Hey. It’s not _your_ fault you have such shitty taste in men. But seriously, _Scourge?_ Come on. You are really scraping the bottom of the trash compactor. You can do so much better than the Cranky Evil Lobster.”

There’s a pause, and then Kat shudders and Kira hears a snort of suppressed laughter. “Kira… Kira, that’s speciest. Kira that’s _terrible_ and you should _feel bad_.”

Relief floods through Kira. She grins and squeezes Katsulas’s shoulders. In terrible taste or not, her description of Scourge succeeded in snapping Katsulas out of his panic attack, and _that’s_ the only thing she cares about right now. Besides, Scourge is _evil_ and a _bastard_ and isn’t worthy of breathing the ship’s recycled air. “I’m serious though,” she says. “You deserve a _nice_ boy. I’ll even help you find one. You know, provided the galaxy doesn’t get eaten in the next week or so.”

“It… it doesn’t bother you?” Kat lifts his head up just enough for his eyes to be visible over his crossed arms. The way he looks at her makes Kira’s chest tighten and _ache_ , and she knows that she can’t just respond with a joke this time.

“Doesn’t what bother me? You liking men, or you liking _Scourge_? Or just the idea of attachments in general?”

“...Yes.”

Kira shakes her head. “No, Kat, you being attracted to men doesn’t bother me. Maybe it’s the way I grew up, but I don’t get why anyone would care what gender you’re attracted to. Mainstream media definitely caters to straight human men, so I can see how _that_ wouldn’t help, but people throw _way_ more of a fit over species, and that’s also stupid.”

Five years as a child at the Korriban Sith Academy followed by eight years surviving Nar Shadda’s callous underbelly tended to focus one’s priorities more on things like ‘food’ and ‘not getting murdered’.

“I mean, we aren’t supposed to have _any_ attachments as Jedi,” Kira continues, “but since that rule somehow doesn’t seem to apply to Grandmaster Satele, or Revan and his ‘great Jedi love’ Bastilla, or Duras Fain, I don’t see why it should apply to you. Just, you know, how about _not_ Sithy McEvilFace. Seriously, I think I’d be happier if you wanted to get in _Doc’s_ pants.”

Katsulas’s eyes widen and he emits a strangled noise of abject horror.

“Hey,” Kira grins, “Doc can’t talk if his mouth is full.”

“ _Kira!_ ”

Kira laughs and lets go of Kat’s shoulders as he straightens up again. His arms rest loosely over tops of his knees rather than squeezing them in a protective death grip. Tension has melted from his shoulders, and he’s smiling as he brushes the heel of one palm over his eyes to chase away unshed tears.

 _Force,_ Kira thinks, _he’s never told anyone before now, has he? Oh, Kat. You’re never afraid of anything. Why were you afraid of_ this _?_ She doesn’t doubt that there are people who would disapprove, but within the Order at least that disapproval would be centered around the existence of the attachment itself.

Well, that and Katsulas’s particularly _abysmal_ taste. Realistically, the Council would probably take some miniscule measure of relief in the fact that at least there’s no possibility of _children_ resulting from Kat’s ill-advised trysts with Scourge.

“So why _Scourge?_ ” Kira asks.

Katsulas coils his side-braid around one index finger and sighs. “His voice. _Stars,_ his voice. His eyes. The way he moves.” Kat opens his mouth to add something else, then bites his lip, his cheeks flushing. Kira raises an eyebrow, but doesn’t ask. After a second, Kat continues. “Beyond that, he’s… he’s _brilliant_ and wise, and he’s seen _so much_. Sometimes, I get a glimpse of the man he used to be—passionate and driven—and I remember that he gave all of that up for a chance to destroy the Sith Emperor. Not because he wants the Emperor’s power, not for his own advancement, but because the depths of Vitiate’s evil horrified him.”

Kira frowns. There’s clearly a great deal more to Scourge’s backstory that she doesn’t know about (mostly because she doesn’t _care_ ), but none of it changes the obvious—mainly that Scourge is _evil_ and is trying to make Katsulas Fall. The fact that Scourge is ancient and brilliantly clever and _very much aware_ of Kat’s attraction to him only worries her more. “Kat… you know you can’t trust him, right? He’s trying to corrupt you for his own ends.”

Kat’s eyes close and he nods. “I know. He’s an evil, manipulative bastard. I know what he’s trying to do, and I’m not about to let him win.”

“All right. Just be careful, Kat. And remember, I’m here if you need me. I always am.”

Kat actually winces. “Shit… I’m sorry, Kira.” He cards his fingers through his thick black hair and looks up at her with apologetic grey eyes.

Kira blinks. “Sorry for _what?_ ”

He hesitates before he answers, his eyes dipping away while he visibly searches for the right words. Kira waits, patiently, for his eyes to meet her own again. “You’re always the one picking me back up these days,” Katsulas says. “It’s not your job to be my emotional support pillar. I’m not the only one who suffered on… hells, Kira, at least I don’t _remember_ much of it. But it was _three months_ , and you remember it _all_.”

Ah, this again. Kira shrugs. “Sure, I remember it, but I think you’re forgetting that I’ve been through worse. I went through worse before we even _met_. It wasn’t you, Kat, not really. We’ve been over this. And you know, I hate to break it to you, but the whole dark secret soul-baring thing you just did here? I beat you to it like, two years ago. You’re not cool.” She waits for Kat’s startled laughter before going on, her tone more serious. “I was a _Child of the Emperor_ , Kat. I trained at the Korriban Sith Academy for _years_. I killed my first tuk’ata when I was six. Imagine how _I_ felt when that charming bit of history came back to haunt me. But you didn’t doubt me for a second. Not once. Not even on Darth Angral’s ship when the Emperor possessed me and I _fought you_. You’re my _friend_ , Kat, and you’ve been a damn good one at that. So shut up and let me take care of you once in awhile, okay?”

Katsulas laughs again and nods as he reaches out to hug her. “Yeah, okay, that’s fair.”

“Damn right it is.” Kira squeezes him close and smiles. She holds him like that for a bit before remembering what she originally came in to tell him. “Oh, by the way, Scourge is holding your lightsabers hostage.”

“...Wait, _what?_ ”

 

* * *

 

Even though Kira has set to rest one of Kat’s greater fears (and even though he really _does_ need to retrieve his lightsabers), he still feels far too brittle to leave his quarters, much less confront Scourge. Kat will have to talk to him before they reach Voss anyway— might as well make the bastard wait as long as possible.

A flood of warm, heavy exhaustion sinks into Katsulas. It feels _so good_ to have finally confided in someone. Kira knows everything now, and she doesn’t care, it hasn’t changed anything at all, and Kat could nearly cry with sheer, overwhelming _relief_ just thinking about it. He is so unbelievably lucky to know her.

Katsulas takes off his shirt and pants and pulls the blankets up over his shoulders. He curls on his side, warm and safe, and lets exhaustion pull him towards unconsciousness.

 

The stench of acrid smoke burns Kat’s nostrils. He can’t breathe. He _can’t breathe_ , even though he’s gasping in lungfuls of air. He wakes up clawing at the pressure on his throat only to find that there’s nothing there.

_You will obey._

Salt stings Kat’s eyes. His cheeks are wet. He can’t see. His vision is blurry, and every time he blinks, his eyes sting even more.

It takes Katsulas a long time staring into the gloom and trying to breathe (how long, he doesn’t know for sure) before he remembers where he is. He _can’t_ remember where he’d been before he woke— what he’d been _dreaming_ about. But he knows where he is.

This is his room. This is his room on the _Prodigal Starfish_. Those are his datapads on the nightstand. That’s his nightlight. It isn’t where he usually sleeps— the comforting thrum of the engine is missing and it’s too quiet— but he’s on the _Prodigal Starfish_ and he’s safe.

He’s safe.

Why can he still smell burning?

_Focus your hatred._

Kat stops breathing and stares, wide-eyed, into the half-gloom. An ache begins to throb beneath his temples.

He needs to get up, get out of this too-quiet room and into someplace more brightly lit. Chase the shadows away. And maybe a hot steam shower will quell the itching sensation on his hands and arms.

Kat turns the light on with a gesture and kicks his sheets away. He doesn’t bother pulling on his shirt or even a pair of trousers— getting dressed doesn’t even occur to him. He needs to get _out_. He stumbles through the door and closes it behind him, and then leans his back against it as he tries to clear his head. The ship’s yellow-orange deck lighting is too bright. Nothing seems real. Kat can’t quite get enough air, and why can he _still_ smell something burning?

Kat swallows, closes his eyes for a moment, and then pushes away from the door. He makes his way numbly to the fresher and finds it unoccupied. His chest keeps fluttering oddly, as though his heart is having palpitations, but when he feels his pulse he can’t tell if anything is actually wrong. “Shit,” Katsulas whispers. He steps into the fresher room and locks the door behind him.

He takes off his boxers, bending over slightly to do so, and then has to grab onto the edge of the sink to steady himself as color drains from his vision and a dim, muted roar fills his ears. Katsulas closes his eyes again and lowers his head over the sink until the vertigo ebbs away enough that he no longer thinks he’ll pass out. “Fuck.” Kat breathes in slow and deep, and presses one hand to his chest when another bout of strange palpitations flutters just below the hollow of his throat. “ _Fuck_.” He waits for it to pass, and then slowly lifts his head and straightens.

His reflection stares back at him, haggard and haunted. The scars on the bare hand that he still has pressed to the hollow of his throat are pale jagged fractals— starkly contrasted against his brown skin. In the ship’s bright orange lighting, his reflection’s eyes flash a molten copper.

Katsulas freezes and stares. He can’t blink. He can’t breathe. The room fades at the edges of his vision.

”Kat? Are you okay?”

It’s Kira’s voice, muffled and distant. Kat opens his mouth and chokes on the acrid stench of smoke.

_Make her scream._

Kat’s knees buckle. He tries to catch himself, but his arms don’t respond. He slumps sideways, knocking the counter’s contents to the floor as he hits the wall hard with his shoulder.

“ _Kat!_ ”

_Make her beg for mercy!_

He crumples to the floor, his back sliding down the wall. Bright orange-white light blooms in his vision. The room blurs and begins to shake. He hears a distant pounding that’s quickly swallowed by the sharp ringing in his ears.

_Come on twig-man, you really going to let his wrinkly ass win? You’re stronger than—aaauugh!_

The room tilts and begins to shake more violently. Kat doesn’t remember the Emperor’s Fortress being this bright, but the screaming in his head is so loud that he can’t imagine he’s anywhere else. But the Emperor’s Fortress shouldn’t be shaking this much, either.

He knows he must be on the _Prodigal Starfish_.

Maybe they’re crashing?

Kat thinks he should be alarmed by that thought, too, but he feels strangely detached from the entire notion.

“I don’t care! Get your ass up here! It’s Kat, he’s— I think he’s trying to—”

A hand towel levitates in the corner of Kat’s vision and begins to twist in mid-air. A bottle of soap crackles and launches itself at the fresher stall door. As Kat watches, the hulking, twisted image of a Sithspawn flickers into being, overlaid atop the fresher stall. As the bottle crashes into the glass, Kat sees a crackling stream of white-purple lightning arc into the creature. Its screams mingle with Kira’s.

The pounding returns, distant and muffled.

“Katsulas? Are you alright?”

Kat thinks he can hear Doc’s voice.

_I can sense your disdain. The coward was never deserving of your loyalty._

Doc’s motionless body appears, lying facedown on the tile floor just a foot away from Kat’s toes. Kat knows that he can’t actually be there, but even though he keeps staring, it doesn’t go away.

“Kiddo, if you can’t answer me, I’m going to have to override the door lock.”

“Just do it already! Override it now!”

_Just do it! If you’re such a big scary Sith now, just do it already!_

Kat opens his mouth to answer, but he can’t speak. A ragged, broken croak is all he manages to get out, and even that sound grates against his ringing ears. Kat lets out a miserable, quiet groan.

“I’m overriding the door, Kat.”

In his peripheral vision, the door slides open. Katsulas doesn’t move. He keeps staring at the image of Doc’s body lying on the floor. He wants to move his leg away, but he can’t get his limbs to do anything.

“Oh shit, Doc is he...?”

“He’s alive. Kat? Kat, can you hear me? Say ‘yes’ if you can hear me.”

Doc had never said anything like that on the Emperor’s Fortress… or had he? Kat doesn’t remember. But he can see Doc entering the room, and _that_ version of Doc looks more solid and feels more _real_ in the Force than the motionless body on the floor, so Kat thinks that Doc must actually be here with him.

Or maybe not, because the standing Doc doesn’t seem to be having any trouble keeping upright despite how hard the ship is shaking, and that doesn’t make any sense either.

“Kira, hand me a large towel. One of the soft ones.”

The standing Doc moves in front of him, stepping inside the other, prone, version of himself. His ankle bisects his neck. Kat stares in horrified fascination.

“A towel? What do you need— oh stars, _Kat_ —”

“ _Towel_. _Now._ ”

Katsulas doesn’t think he’s ever heard Doc sound so professional and authoritative before. Maybe on Balmorra? No, he’d been flirting with Kira practically non-stop. Maybe on the Emperor’s Fortress—

_Just not the face, okay kid? Ol’ Doc’s gotta keep these gorgeous looks, or else women across the galaxy will weep._

Kat lets out a miserable, broken whimper. The ship’s shaking hasn’t stopped. He wonders why it’s taking so long for them to crash. At least the smell of burning isn’t quite so strong anymore.

Doc kneels down in front of him, bringing his face into Kat’s shaky field of vision. The concern and worry that Kat can sense twisting through the Force follows him; this Doc _must_ be the real one. Kat can sense more worry and fear, brighter and sharper like razors in the Force, over by the door. _Kira_. Kira’s really here in the room, too. Katsulas feels a pang of dismay at the realization; he doesn’t want Kira to see him like this.

Doc reaches out towards the door, and when he pulls his hand back he’s holding a light blue towel. He moves his other hand, index pointed up, in front of his nose. “Kat, look at me,” Doc says in a soft but firm tone. His voice doesn’t sound like it’s coming from far away anymore.

Kat focuses on the index finger, and then on Doc’s face. Doc has warm brown eyes. Kat hadn’t really noticed that before. Somewhere behind Doc, the levitating hand towel drops to the floor. A strange clattering sound that Kat hadn’t even noticed before ceases.

“Good. Very good,” Doc says. His voice is soothing. “Kat, can you speak?”

Kat’s lips part, but nothing comes out. He can’t make words happen. His throat just won’t obey.

_You will obey!_

“Is he hurt?” Kira asks.

_I know you don’t want to hurt me, Kat!_

Doc stares at Katsulas for a moment, and then without looking away, says very calmly, “Kira, give us some space, please. I need you to find Rusk and Teeseven and get them to guard the stairs. Then I need you to go through Kat’s room and find a pair of soft, loose-fitting pajama bottoms. Nothing scratchy or rough. Okay?”

There’s a pause. Kat expects Kira to argue, and he’s relieved when she doesn’t. “Yeah. Good idea,” she says, and then her presence fades into the background.

“Okay champ,” Doc says, “I need you to focus on my finger, okay? Follow my finger.” He begins to move his index finger slowly from side to side, and then up and down.

Kat tracks the movement. The room is still achingly bright and the ship is still shaking, but not quite as violently as before.

“Good,” Doc praises again. “Very good. I’m going to wrap this towel around your shoulders now.” He unfolds the blue towel and drapes it carefully over Kat’s bare chest and shoulders. It’s soft and warm. “Look at me again.” Doc waits until Kat’s eyes are focused on his, and then says, “I know it’s hard, but I need you to say something, okay? I know you’re nonverbal right now, and that’s okay, but I’m going to need you to speak to me eventually. Take your time.”

 _Nonverbal? There’s a word for this?_ Kat stares at him and tries to summon words again. Nothing comes out. Kat swallows.

“Okay. Can you nod yes? Shake your head no?”

Kat hesitates, and then nods once.

“Okay. Are you hurt physically anywhere?”

Kat thinks about that. He shakes his head.

“Did you fall?”

Kat frowns. That’s harder to answer. He didn’t _fall_ per se—he remembers the wall catching him. He’d slumped to the floor more than ‘fell’. He mouths the word ‘wall’.

“You fell against the wall and slid down?”

Kat nods.

“Okay. I’m going to check your arms and legs for cuts. Is that okay?” Doc waits for Kat to nod, and then gently lifts Kat’s right arm and inspects it. He does the same for his left, and then both of his bare legs.

Kat watches him, and tries to force words out of his throat. He swallows, breathes out audibly, and, after a couple of tries, manages a whisper. “The ship… shaking?”

Doc looks up at him and gives him a smile. “No, champ, that’s not the ship shaking. That’s _you_ shaking.”

Kat blinks. “Oh.” He swallows hard again. “The um… the burning?”

Doc’s eyebrows lift. “I think Beautiful out there tried to whip up a midnight snack. Gorgeous, great at stabbing people, not so great at cooking. She burned whatever it was.” Doc studies Kat for a moment, and then asks, “Was the burning smell the trigger?”

“There was… I was having a nightmare,” Kat whispers.

Doc nods. “Smells are very strongly linked to memory.” He pauses. “As are sounds, though not quite to the same degree.”

Kat pulls the towel a little more tightly around his shoulders. “...yeah.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” Doc asks. He holds up a hand quickly and adds: “ _Only_ if you want to. If you don’t, that’s fine. Just know that my door is always open. I’m your doctor. I’m here to help you. I _want_ to help you, Kat.”

Kat’s throat tightens and the room blurs again. He clenches his hands in the towel hard enough to squeeze the blood from his fingertips. “I kept hearing… I kept hearing Kira. And you. From the…” He squeezes his eyes shut. “Your body was lying on the floor. Right where you are now. I could see—” Kat’s shoulders begin to shake and broken sobs choke his throat. “I’m sorry, Doc, I’m so sorry, I’m _so sorry!_ ”

Kat doesn’t resist when he feels Doc’s arms wrap gently around his shoulders and pull him into a hug. Kat presses his face against Doc’s shoulder and cries while Doc rubs his back soothingly and says, “It’s okay. It’s not your fault. It’s okay.”

At some point, Kira drops off a pair of Kat’s looser-fitting sleep pants. Kat only knows this because when his shuddering finally subsides and he sinks into a bone-deep exhaustion, he pulls back and finds the pair of pants neatly folded and resting on his knees. Kat hadn’t even sensed Kira coming back.

“Feeling better?” Doc asks.

Kat wipes his eyes and nose with the towel and swallows. His mouth and throat feel thick and clogged and his eyes feel puffy, but his chest is lighter now. The ringing in his ears is gone. The room is still too bright, but at least it's not shaking— _he's_ not shaking— anymore. And he thinks he’s stopped seeing things that aren’t really there. “Yeah,” he says. “I think so.”

Doc chuckles. “Well, you’re not shaking anymore, and you’re able to talk. So that’s good.”

Kat swallows again. He looks down at the towel. “Fuck, I’m a mess.”

“Yep.”

“And I… oh hells, I cried on your shoulder.” Kat’s face burns with mortification. He wants to curl up and disappear. He wants to rewind the past hour so that none of this ever happened. “Oh _stars_ , I’m such an _embarrassment_ —”

Doc touches a hand to Kat’s arm. “I’m going to stop you right there, kiddo. You are _not_ an embarrassment. Ol’ Doc’s shoulders have soaked up enough tears over the years to turn Tatooine into a tropical resort planet. You know I once had a fully-grown man come into my clinic bawling because someone had broken his nose and he thought he’d never be handsome again?”

_Just not the face, kid, okay?_

Kat closes his eyes and swallows again. At least this time, he can tell the difference between the voice in his head and the _real_ Doc.

“ _You_ , on the other hand,” Doc continues, “have just experienced your very first traumatic flashback. You have post traumatic stress disorder, Kat, and that’s no small thing. But you’re safe, you’re not alone, and we can work on this. It’s going to be okay.”

Kat pulls his knees up to his chest and uses a corner of the towel to wipe the dried tears from his cheeks. “Okay.” He swallows again, and then his eyes widen with another mortifying realization. “I’m… I’m not wearing pants.”

“Nope.”

“Oh _fuck me_ , I’m so sorry.”

Doc just laughs. “Relax, champ. I have _also_ seen more naked people than I can count. Besides,” he says, clapping Kat lightly on the shoulder, “you’re not really my type.”

Kat can’t help it; he laughs. It’s an undignified, hiccuping snort that dissolves into quiet, wheezing chuckles, and when it passes all Kat can feel is drained. Drained and exhausted, but smiling.

“All right kiddo, think you can stand up?” Doc asks.

Kat considers. “I… I think so. I’ve got the wall to brace against.”

Doc nods. “Take it slow and easy.”

It takes a minute, but Kat eventually manages to stand up in spite of his unsteady legs. As Kat navigates the logistics of putting his boxers and sleep pants back on, Doc says: “I’m going to suggest you try sleeping the rest of the night in my clinic instead of your own quarters.”

Kat pulls his boxers up and casts a quizzical look at Doc as he turns the pair of pants over in his hands, searching for the waistline hem. He opens his mouth to ask Doc why, and then he thinks about going back to his own room and trying to sleep. His own too-quiet, empty room. Kat bites his lower lip and looks down. “Yeah,” he agrees quietly. “Yeah that… sounds good. You’re sure it’s okay…? You don’t mind?”

“Kat. I’m a doctor because I _like_ taking care of people.” Doc waits until Kat glances up at him, and then he cocks a rakish grin. “Though admittedly, the recognition is definitely a perk, as are the scores of beautiful women falling all over themselves to thank me.”

Katsulas snorts and shakes his head. He looks back down and focuses on getting his feet through the pant legs one at a time without toppling over.

“Seriously though, Kat, I don’t mind. I’d prefer being able to keep an eye on you, at least for tonight,” Doc says. “The clinic smells strongly of kolto and disinfectant; that’ll help to block out any other scents. And you won’t be alone.”

Kat cinches his pants around his waist and leans heavily against the wall at his back. “...okay. Okay.” He nods, more to himself than to Doc, and manages a tiny, resigned smile. “I think I’m too exhausted to argue with you anyway.”

“Good man.”

Kira is hovering outside when they exit the fresher. She doesn’t say anything, but the look of utter _relief_ on her face when Kat gives her a shaky smile tells him plenty. Around her, the Force twists with lingering echoes of fear and sorrow and, for some reason, guilt.

Kat’s legs are unsteady enough that Doc and Kira have to help him walk the twenty yards between the fresher and the clinic’s new location on the other side of the main deck. Kat sees Rusk and Teeseven guarding the top of the stairs that lead down to the engine room and cargo bay, and he knows immediately why they’re there. Kat feels a dizzying swell of overwhelming gratitude; the _last_ person he wants to see right now is Scourge.

Doc closes the clinic door behind them as Kira guides Kat over to a chair. Kat sits and stares down at the palms of his hands while Doc pulls out a hideaway patient bed from the wall. “I feel silly,” Kat admits quietly. “The entire galaxy is relying on me. I shouldn’t need to be… _coddled_.”

Kira looks down at him, dismayed. “You’re not— Kat, that’s not—”

“There’s a difference between being ‘coddled’ and being ‘looked after’,” Doc says. He beckons, and Kira carefully guides Kat out of the chair and towards the bed. “I’m a doctor,” Doc adds. “I’m _your_ doctor. This is also my job, remember?”

“...yeah.” Kat sits down on the edge of the bed. He goes to toe his boots off, and then remembers that he isn’t even wearing any. Kat closes his eyes and shakes his head, as though that will chase the fog from his brain. “Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize, kiddo,” Doc says.

Kira squeezes Kat’s shoulder reassuringly.

“Lights on or off?” Doc asks. “I’ll be working over in the corner, so the room won’t be completely dark either way.”

“Off,” Kat says. “It’s… it’s too bright.”

Doc nods and dims the lights until the brightest glow in the room is coming from the monitors on his desk. It… helps. With Kira sitting next to him and Doc across the room starting to type on his datapad, and with the strong smell of disinfectant everywhere, Katsulas feels… calmer. He sways under the sudden combined weight of relief and exhaustion.

“Whoa,” Kira says. She catches both of his shoulders to steady him. “Okay twig man, you need to lie down.”

Kat blinks and swallows. His eyes are wide and it’s hard to focus. “Yeah, that’s… that’s a good idea.” He scoots back and gingerly lays down. Kira pulls the covers over him and sits on the edge of the bed next to him. She cards her fingers through his hair, and it feels so _good_ that his chest aches and his throat tightens. He swallows and closes his eyes for a moment. “I’m sorry I scared you, Kira,” he whispers.

“Hey, it’s okay,” she soothes. “It’s okay. I’m just glad you weren’t… I thought…” Her voice quiets to a whisper. “I thought you were trying to kill yourself.”

 _Oh,_ Katsulas thinks. It would explain why Doc had shown up. Kat doesn’t remember much, but looking back it is strange that Kira and Doc had known that he’d needed help. Kira must have heard him fall, and when he hadn’t responded… “I’m sorry, Kira,” he whispers back. “I… I wasn’t trying to kill myself. I had a… I had a nightmare and it… triggered a flashback, according to Doc.” He doesn’t mention that it was the smell of Kira’s burned cooking that set off the nightmare in the first place. She doesn’t need that guilt. It’s not Kira’s fault. “I think I’m okay now, though.” He reaches out and squeezes Kira’s knee with one hand. “Thanks. For looking out for me.”

“You’re my friend, doofus,” Kira says, fondly. She’s still carding her fingers through his hair, and it’s getting harder to keep his eyes open. “Go to sleep, Kat, you look exhausted.”

Kat manages a weak nod and finally stops fighting the heavy pull of exhaustion. His eyes slip closed and he drifts off to the sensation of Kira’s fingers stroking his head, letting him know that he’s safe and loved.

 

* * *

 

Scourge does not expect the Knight to approach him the next day— not after the chaos he’d sensed during the night. Scourge had awoken to overwhelming sensations of panic, terror, and confusion, all churning together into a sickening miasma with the Knight as its source. Scourge had been alarmed enough to leave the cargo bay with the intention of checking on the Knight, only to find the chagrian trooper and the astromech droid standing guard at the upper stair landing.

The trooper had leveled a grim glare at Scourge and informed him flatly: “The doc has everything under control. He and Master Katsulas are not to be disturbed. You need something, it can wait until morning.”

Scourge could have simply flung the astromech down the stairs, but he hadn’t felt like arguing with the trooper’s assault cannon. He’d scowled at them both, but returned to his makeshift quarters in the cargo bay where he’d paced and tried to determine what, precisely, was _wrong_ with the Knight.

Eventually the feeling of panic and confusion had dimmed, leaving the Knight’s Force signature brittle and jagged. Scourge had frowned when he’d sensed the doctor and Carsen moving the Knight to the clinic (which the doctor had relocated up to the main deck— likely entirely because living across the hall from Scourge had made the doctor feel nervous) instead of back to the Knight’s own personal quarters.

They are due to arrive in orbit around Voss the next day, and they do not have the luxury of time. The Knight _must_ be well enough to fight, or the galaxy will perish.

Scourge still does not understand how the Knight can be simultaneously so powerful and yet so _fragile_. It is a failing that will need to be rectified eventually, preferably _sooner_ rather than later. But after their fight earlier and his disastrous attempt to prove a point, Scourge knows that he must tread very, very carefully, or else he risks destroying any chance he has of winning the Knight’s trust. Scourge _needs_ that trust.

So regardless of his own opinions on the matter, Scourge decides that he will not push. The Knight needs his lightsabers returned, true, but he expects that Carsen will come to retrieve them herself, and Scourge will not argue when that happens. He is prepared to wait, and let the Knight come to him when he’s ready, even if that means Scourge must wait until after Lord Fulminiss is dealt with to give the Knight his apology.

So when Scourge senses the Knight descending the stairs to the lower decks the following afternoon, he’s pleasantly surprised. Scourge is in the middle of a training routine, but he stops immediately and deactivates his lightsaber. He waits to see if the Knight will continue on to the engine room, and when instead the Knight halts at the cargo hold entrance, Scourge turns to look at him.

The Knight is leaning against the door frame. His arms are crossed over his chest defensively and his mouth is pressed thin with displeasure. He looks tired, but annoyed. “Kira tells me you want to apologize,” the Knight says. “Or at least that you _claim_ you want to apologize. This had better be good.”

His anger is intoxicating as always, but that’s not all Scourge senses in him; there’s also uncertainty, pain, a hint of the same brittleness Scourge had sensed the previous night, and a deep-set, sickening undercurrent of shame. Scourge has no use for any these, _particularly_ the shame. But the Knight requires a gentle hand, and the fact that Scourge despises such weakness is irrelevant. There will be time enough later to temper him into the weapon the galaxy needs him to be, but only if Scourge gains his trust and forgiveness _now_. It is a simple compromise to make.

Scourge briefly considers asking what had happened last night, or at the very least, asking if the Knight is feeling any better. He quickly dismisses the idea, however; at best, the Knight would think that Scourge is being evasive, and at worst he might conclude that Scourge’s promise of an apology was just a ruse to lure him down here. Whatever happened last night, the Knight does not wish to speak of it. Now is not the time to press.

Scourge returns his lightsaber to his belt and crosses his arms. “I caused you...distress. I sense pain and shame from you. This...was not my intention.”

The Knight blinks once, slowly. His mouth pinches and his jaw shifts as he clenches his teeth hard. The anger Scourge senses within him flares and roils, but doesn’t quite obscure the constant black undercurrent of shame and misery. “What _was_ your intention, then?” the Knight snaps acidly.

A simple compromise only in _theory_ , apparently. Scourge frowns and is silent for a moment as he tries to select the right words. Or if not the _right_ words, at least ones that won’t have the Knight storming away in a fury.

“It is true that I wished to demonstrate to you that your inhibitions are exploitable weaknesses,” Scourge says, and then holds up one hand as the Knight’s upper lip curls into a snarl, “ _however_ , that is not the only reason I kissed you. I kissed you because I _desired_ to kiss you.”

The Knight goes tense. He straightens from the cargo hold door, but instead of leaving as Scourge fears he might, he steps further _into_ the room and closes the door behind him with a wave of his hand.

Afraid they’ll be overheard, perhaps? It fits with the Knight’s brief spike of panic and the self-loathing that still poisons his otherwise enjoyable emotions.

Scourge watches as the Knight stalks closer to him. His gloved fists are balled at his sides as though he wants to swing at Scourge, but they both know full well that he’s not going to give in to that desire no matter how much Scourge _wants_ him to.

“ _Liar_ ,” the Knight hisses. “I remember what you told me about the Ritual’s effects. You _can’t_ feel.” He takes a single step forward and bares his teeth in a snarl. His pale grey eyes are bright with anger, but Scourge can taste the _hurt_ underneath it all—a sharp, sour ache at the back corners of his mouth. “Or was _that_ the lie? You sure do seem capable of expressing spite and irritation, and you _claim_ to feel desire. I want a straight fucking explanation, damn you, and you’re going to give one to me _right_ _now_.”

Scourge does not break eye contact as he gives a single, slow nod. “As you wish.”

Scourge has not told anyone about his empathic abilities in centuries—not since becoming the Emperor’s Wrath. Darth Nyriss had once called them a gift. It had taken Scourge a long time to realize just how right she’d been. It isn’t just the secret to why he can read his opponents and discern their weaknesses so quickly, and it’s more than a way to gorge himself with power by feeding on the emotions of those around him. It is a link to _passion_. It is a connection, however indirect, to everything he’d lost when he became the Emperor’s Wrath. It is what has kept him _sane_ for three hundred years.

And it is a _secret_ for exactly these reasons.

But it appears he no longer has that luxury.

“It is true that pain has deadened my ability to feel,” Scourge begins. “It is all-encompassing, unending, and unabating. After three hundred years of this, my body and mind have been forced to adapt. I no longer have the ability to feel on my own accord.”

The Knight’s grey eyes narrow. He hasn’t moved or looked away, and while Scourge can sense twinges of sympathy from him, it’s his _anger_ that still burns the brightest. “On your own accord?” the Knight repeats.

Scourge nods. “I have a unique gift with the Force,” he tells the Knight. “I can sense the emotions within a person, and I can draw _power_ from them. In past centuries, I have used this gift to augment my strength in combat. I would feed on my opponent’s darker emotions and amplify my powers beyond normal limits.” Scourge pauses for a second and tilts his head slightly up as something occurs to him. In the past, he has only ever drawn power from _negative_ emotion: anger, fear, hatred, jealousy. He would never have even thought to draw strength from other forms of passion.

And yet he has done so with the Knight, in a sense. He has not drawn _power_ from the Knight’s desire, amusement, or happiness (Scourge is not sure he can remember a moment when the Knight has felt happiness), but he has drawn these emotions _into_ himself. It may be possible, then, for Scourge to take that next logical step and—

No. Anger, fear, and hatred provide plenty of power for Scourge to draw from. Those emotions are never in short supply—not even among the most pious of Jedi. Scourge needs only a few seconds to watch his opponents, and he can identify their weaknesses. It is a skill honed over centuries of acting as the Emperor’s personal executioner. If his foes do not feel hatred for him, they can be baited into anger. If they cannot be baited into anger, then he will threaten that which they hold dear.

 _Everyone_ feels fear.

“Okay, that’s a handy trick,” the Knight says, pulling Scourge from his thoughts. The Knight’s grey eyes are hard as iron and he does not look impressed. “Sure explains why you were such an effective executioner. But how the _fuck_ is that supposed to answer my question?”

Scourge looks back down at the Knight. He doesn’t know why _this_ fragile, angry, scared young Jedi is so different, but the strength of the connection between them only lends more credence to Scourge’s vision three hundred years ago. “With _you_ , I can do more than merely sense emotions. With _you_ , I can _feel_ them, almost as though they were my own.”

It takes a second for the full implications to sink in, but when they do, the Knight’s eyes widen and his lips part as he inhales sharply. “Oh, shit. You’re an empath,” he breathes.

Scourge considers. “An adequate term, I suppose. Although the fullest effect only works with _you_.”

It’s the wrong thing to say, even though it’s true. Immediately the glimmer of warmth Scourge had sensed in him dies, snuffed out beneath a flood of suspicion. The Knight crosses his arms over his chest and narrows his eyes. “Yeah, _sure._ Are you fucking serious?” he snaps. “You expect me to _believe_ that load of bantha shit?”

Scourge lifts one brow tendril. “I have no reason to lie, _Jedi_. Can you not sense the truth in my words?”

The Knight snorts derisively. “You hid the truth from the Sith Emperor for three hundred years. If you’re capable of lying to _him_ , you’re capable of lying to me.”

As inconvenient as the Knight’s skepticism is at the moment, Scourge silently applauds him. Despite his tendency to make foolish decisions, he continues to prove that he is no _fool_.

“And even assuming that you _are_ telling the truth,” the Knight goes on, “they're still not _your_ emotions. You say that you wanted to kiss me, but none of that desire was actually _yours_. It's all just a lie.”

Scourge is quiet for a moment. Then: “Does a moon give off its own light?”

The Knight blinks, his anger momentarily deflating as he stares up at Scourge in confusion. “I... _what?_ ”

“Does a moon radiate its own light?” Scourge repeats patiently. When the Knight simply continues to stare at him, Scourge goes on. “No. A moon merely reflects the light of its sun. And yet, even a moon’s reflected light is bright enough to see by. Sometimes, that is enough.”

The Knight’s jaw works soundlessly. “I… did… did you just compare me to a sun?”

“Is that really what you’ve chosen to take away from this?”

The Knight flushes and looks to the side, hunching his shoulders. “I… sorry. That was just… embarrassingly poetic.”

Scourge arches a brow tendril. “There is nothing _embarrassing_ about poeticism. Many of the greatest Sith arts utilize poetry to convey the intricacies and strengths of deep emotion. Additionally, the analogy is an apt and effective one.” Scourge’s mouth curves and his red eyes darken with an undisguised, predatory hunger that he knows does not go unnoticed by the Knight. “You burn more brightly than anyone I have ever known.”

But this time, the Knight does not allow himself to be distracted. His grey eyes close briefly and he squares his shoulders. “So you’ve mentioned before,” he says. “But you still haven’t told me what _you_ want. ‘Reflected light’ is all well and good, but it’s still _mine_. They’re still _my_ desires. How do _you_ even know what you want, if you can only feel what _I_ want?”

“I am over three centuries old, _Jedi_ ,” Scourge bites back harshly. “I _know myself_. And I still remember the feel of sunlight on my skin. The scent of my favourite foods. The color of my first love’s eyes.” Scourge uncrosses his arms and reaches out towards the Knight’s face. The Knight leans back, just out of reach, but Scourge keeps his hand outstretched, gauntleted fingers a few inches away from the Knight’s cheek. “You are strong, clever, and passionate. I would have desired you greatly when I was whole. Your own desire allows me to experience that again.” Scourge pauses and withdraws his hand, crossing his arms over his chest once more. He adds, pointedly: “A light to see by, Jedi. Sometimes, that is enough.”

What Scourge does not mention is how destructive and comparatively careless his younger self had been. If Katsulas had been alive three hundred years ago, Scourge would indeed have pursued him, but he would have broken Katsulas in the process and called it art.

“I… I see,” the Knight says quietly. He tugs at his fingers anxiously and Scourge hears his knuckles pop one by one. “That doesn’t change what you’re trying to do, though. You’re trying to get me to Fall. That’s still your end game. I will _not_ be Sith, Scourge.”

Scourge raises his brow tendrils again. “I am _trying_ to convince you to embrace your passions, Jedi. And while I maintain that you would be _stronger_ if you also embraced the ways of the Sith in their entirety, it is not” —Scourge grits his teeth— “a condition of my continued assistance.”

“No?” The Knight meets his eyes now. “Because it sure fucking seems that way.”

“In my vision, I saw a _Jedi_ defeat the Sith Emperor,” says Scourge. “ _You_ are that Jedi. But you are not strong enough yet. You hold yourself back from your true potential. You allow guilt and shame over your desires to cripple you, when there is _nothing_ to be ashamed of.”

The Knight snorts. “‘Nothing to be ashamed of’. Yeah, right. Coming from _you_ , that doesn’t mean much.”

 _Patience,_ Scourge tells himself. Provoking a fight will not serve him here. He needs calm logic if he’s to finally reach the Knight. Another violent argument will only push him away for good. “The shame you experience is simply an artifact of your isolation and subsequent lack of exposure to similar sexual orientations in the world around you, reinforced by your Order’s condemning of _all_ attraction and attachment. It is an accident of omission. On some level, you already know this to be true.”

“I… _how_ —” The Knight’s face scrunches with a mixture of horror and indignation. “Who made you my fucking therapist?”

“ _Jedi—_ ”

Something snaps behind the Knight’s eyes, leaving them cold and bright with sudden fury. He lunges two steps forward and hooks his fingers around the metal tubing of the armor at Scourge’s neck. The Knight _yanks_ and snarls: “I have a _fucking name_ , Scourge! My name is not ‘Jedi’. It’s _Katsulas_. Fucking _use it!_ ” Then the Knight shoves him away and takes two steps back, still brimming with anger.

For three full seconds, Scourge does not breathe. He stares at the Kni—at _Katsulas_ , and it’s like seeing him in technicolor for the first time. The ship’s orange light reflects in his grey eyes like sparks of fire, made even brighter by the sunken shadows beneath. His nostrils are flared, and Scourge notices for the first time that his nose is a little crooked, as though he’d broken it a long time ago and didn’t quite manage to set it right. His teeth—bared in a bestial snarl—are a brilliant white against the brown and black of his skin and beard. Katsulas’s lower lip is slightly torn, as though he’s been worrying at it.

Scourge drinks in the sight of him. The tiny worry lines he’d never noticed before. The richness of color in his hair and skin and eyes. How expressive his features are, _especially_ when he’s angry.

Scourge has been _waiting_ for this.

“As you wish, Katsulas,” Scourge says, affecting a tone of soft approval and watching as it visibly takes the Kni—as it takes _Katsulas_ off-guard. And it works better than Scourge had expected.

The anger appears to drain from Katsulas, though he tries to hold on to it. His jaw is clenched, but he’s swallowing hard. His cheeks are flushed with what might be fury, but he’s avoiding looking at Scourge’s face. “Better,” Katsulas mutters.

Scourge chuckles and leans his weight against the heavy storage crates at his back. “But as I was saying, you must know there is no real reason for you to feel ashamed. You are attracted to me, Katsulas. You _crave_ intimacy in every sense. Denial will not serve you.”

“I _can’t_ just—”

“Why not?” Scourge presses, cutting him off. “Your Jedi Council cannot touch you; they _need_ you. What is your plan, Katsulas? To continue denying yourself until the bitterness and resentment festering in your heart is too much to bear?”

The Knight’s— _Katsulas’s_ eyes close. He shifts his weight minutely from foot to foot and pulls at his fingers again. “You’re an evil bastard and a master manipulator, Lord Scourge. I don’t trust you.”

 _Good_ , Scourge thinks approvingly. _Inconvenient, but good_. He nods once and shrugs his shoulders. “And yet, I have always made my motivations and intentions regarding you and my own presence here on this ship exceedingly clear. I need you alive and strong and _unbroken_ to destroy the Sith Emperor. This is not altruistic. My own survival depends on your success.”

When Katsulas opens his eyes again, he looks _tired_ instead of angry. All of the fury Scourge had sensed boiling within him earlier has simply… drained away. Katsulas doesn’t say anything; he just shakes his head a little and looks away.

Scourge almost has him. “Think it over, Katsulas,” he says, in a tone that is as gentle as it is calculated. “That is all I ask.”

Katsulas doesn’t look at him, but after a second of silence, he gives one single, tiny nod. “I’ll think about it,” he says.

And just like that, Scourge has him. Not even Katsulas himself realizes it yet, but all that’s required now is time. Katsulas will think about giving in, and he will not be able to _stop_ thinking about giving in, or about how close they are to death and how much he _wants_ this. Scourge will let Katsulas come to _him_ this time, and when he does, Katsulas will have no one else to blame for what happens but _himself._

“Scourge?”

Scourge blinks once and arches his brow tendrils. “Yes?”

Katsulas holds out one hand, palm up. “Give me my fucking lightsabers.”

Scourge gives a low, rumbling chuckle and retrieves Katsulas’s twin sabers from the crate behind him. He hands them over, allowing the tips of his gauntleted fingers to press against Katsulas’s hand for a fraction of a second too long. Before Katsulas can comment or tense, Scourge changes the subject. “We should speak of Lord Fulminiss.”

“Lord Fulminiss?” Katsulas frowns as he clips his lightsabers to either side of his belt. “Oh, the Sith Lord Jomar said is being sent to Voss, right?”

It is still easy to forget that not everyone knows Lord Fulminiss by name and reputation. His is an established household name within the Empire, and his achievements have certainly made him known to the Jedi Order as well. A Jedi Knight as accomplished as Katsulas _should_ know of him… but then again, it is also easy for Scourge to forget just how young Katsulas really is. He has only been a Knight for four or five years at most, and he was Knighted _early_.

“Yes,” Scourge confirms with a nod. “And this tells me that the Emperor isn’t taking any chances with Voss.”

Katsulas lifts his eyebrows. “He’s a bigshot, then?”

“Lord Fulminiss is widely regarded as one of the greatest Sith sorcerers to have ever lived. He is a master of both Sith magic and alchemy, and the Emperor himself has personally requested Fulminiss’s expertise on multiple occasions.”

Katsulas lets out a slow breath and props his hands on his hips. “Just like he’s doing now. Does this tell us anything about the _method_ the Emperor plans to use to destroy Voss?”

Scourge does not smile, but he experiences a swell of admiration for Katsulas. Unless they’re talking about Jedi and Sith philosophy, Scourge rarely has to explain himself twice, and he enjoys watching Katsulas use his sharp intellect to cut down those who oppose him, much as he enjoys watching Katsulas give in to _any_ of his darker urges. “Lord Fulminiss _specializes_ in mass extermination techniques,” says Scourge. “He once summoned a Force Storm so powerful that it destroyed an entire _city_ on Jabiim.”

Katsulas’s jaw slackens. He lifts one hand from his hip and gestures as though he’s trying to say something, but can’t quite find the words. Eventually, he manages to say, “ _Awesome_ ,” and lets his arm go limp at his side. “Well, he can’t summon a Force Storm that would engulf all of Voss.” He pauses, and then looks up at Scourge with real panic in his eyes. “Can he?”

Scourge shakes his head. “No. To my knowledge only the Emperor possesses the power to drain the life from an entire planet in such a manner,” Scourge says. “But Lord Fulminiss’s methods are likely to involve some manner of alchemy or ritual.”

“On a planet we know nothing about, with a group of Force-practitioners that we know even less about.”

“We must not fail, Katsulas.”

“I know.” Katsulas’s eyes close and he nods. He takes in a slow, steadying breath and straightens his shoulders. “We won’t.” A corner of his mouth twitches upwards into what’s clearly a forced smile. “You had a _Vision_ , after all.”

Scourge stares at him, unamused. “A Vision is not a _guarantee_.”

Katsulas pinches the bridge of his nose. “Stars, Scourge, I know. Lighten up, will you? Let me have my stupid little jokes.”

Scourge tilts his head very slightly, but otherwise does not move or react. “You’re afraid.”

Katsulas snorts. “Needed your empathic abilities to figure that one out, did you?”

Scourge ignores the childish jibe. “Believe in your own strength, Katsulas.”

“But you just said—”

“I cautioned you against complacency and carelessness,” Scourge explains patiently. “But if you do not believe you have the strength to succeed, we will fail just as surely.”

Katsulas opens his mouth to speak, but Scourge already knows what he’s going to say, and he has neither the time nor the patience for it. Scourge cuts him off. “If you cannot muster any faith in yourself, then have faith in _me_. _I_ have tested your strength, Katsulas. I have watched you, assessed you, and fought against and alongside you. Even at your weakest, you are the greatest of your Order. I would not be here if I did not believe in you.”

It is Katsulas’s _power_ that Scourge believes in, rather than Katsulas himself, but the word choice is deliberate. Deliberate and _effective_ , judging by the way Katsulas’s brown cheeks tint with the hint of a dark red flush.

The stubborn set of his jaw doesn’t loosen, however. “That’s… good to know,” Katsulas says, “and I’ll keep that in mind, but you’re also missing the point.”

Scourge raises a brow tendril.

“I can _be_ afraid, Scourge. I can be afraid without…” Katsulas flaps one hand in the air and shifts his weight back on one foot. “...Without letting my fear control me. Some fear is pretty fucking normal and dare I say _healthy_ when facing up against a galaxy-devouring God-Emperor. I’m taking this seriously, which is what you fucking want, isn’t it? So I’m going to be afraid, and I’m going to make shitty jokes about it to cope, and you’re just going to have to learn to deal with that.” Katsulas jabs his index finger up at Scourge’s chest.

Scourge’s grin is slow and filled with teeth. “Good. You’re learning.”

Katsulas’s arm drops to his side. He stares up at Scourge as comprehension slowly sinks in. “Oh _fuck you_ , Scourge.” Katsulas turns on his heel and heads for the door.

Scourge chuckles, just loud enough for Katsulas to hear him. “Perhaps later.”

 

* * *

 

“We’re in orbit around Voss, Master Satele,” Katsulas says, once the Grandmaster’s translucent image flickers into being above the conference room’s secure holocomm. Katsulas holds himself straight and as tall as he can manage, his chin high and his expression outwardly neutral.

Scourge stands to his right and watches him. Katsulas’s outward calm is a lie, he knows. He can sense the anxiety tightening in Katsulas’s throat. Nervous energy thrums through his limbs and builds with every passing second of inaction. Scourge sees his fingers twitch where he holds them clasped loosely together behind his back.

Fortunately, the Grandmaster is not one for small talk. “Be wary when you reach the surface,” Satele Shan cautions.

Katsulas goes utterly still—even his minute fidgeting ceases entirely as he waits for what he clearly hopes will be the intel they so desperately need.

“Voss is a strange world under the absolute control of a group of powerful Force users called the Mystics,” Satele Shan continues. “The Mystics reject the idea that the Force has both a light and a dark side. They claim to follow a “neutral” path, both in their politics and in the Force.” Though she is clearly trying to appear neutral and objective herself, Satele Shan’s mouth twists with disapproval, and her voice is thick with skepticism. “Despite their claims, I fear the Mystics have more in common with the Sith than us.”

 _Pathetic_ , Scourge thinks with disgust. _The entire galaxy at stake, and she wastes our time with concern that her precious Champion will fall to the mere concept of neutrality._

Though perhaps she is right to worry. Scourge knows enough of Voss culture to understand that Satele Shan’s depiction of it is little more than Jedi propaganda. It is intended to distract from the concept of a society that follows a truly neutral path—a concept that Scourge _knows_ Katsulas would find appealing. The Jedi Council still attempts to control Katsulas by keeping him in ignorance and feeding his fear of the Dark Side. Anything that is not _their_ way is aberrant and corrupt.

It is a trait that the Jedi and the Sith have in common.

“So, what, they’re not actually neutral? It’s a lie?” Katsulas asks, and Scourge can hear the note of scepticism in his voice.

As can Satele Shan, apparently, judging by the hard edge in her voice when she answers. “The Mystics use the visions given to them by the Force to control the lives of ordinary citizens. Like the Sith, they use their power to dominate others.” Her gaze shifts very briefly over to Scourge before returning to Katsulas.

Scourge experiences a mild spike of irritation. The Grandmaster’s attempt at manipulation is unsubtle and insulting. “ _Please_ ,” he scoffs. “The Mystics are prophets who shape the direction of Voss society. The Emperor wants to wipe out all life in the galaxy. _Hardly_ the same thing.”

Satele Shan turns the full weight of her gaze on Scourge now. She does not blink as she locks eyes with him, he notes. Despite all of her flaws, she is powerful and unafraid—at least of him. That makes her worthy of some respect. “The dark side is subtle and insidious—as you well know,” she says. “The Emperor did not begin his conquest of the galaxy by declaring his true intentions.”

Scourge does not say anything in response. He does not need to. He can _feel_ Katsulas beginning to bristle next to him, and that is all the victory he requires in this pointless debate. “Just because the Voss don’t follow the Jedi Code, that doesn’t make them _evil_ ,” Katsulas argues.

At that, Satele Shan drops all pretense of subtlety. She frowns at Katsulas. “You are a Knight of the Republic,” she reminds him pointedly. “Do not allow your companion’s views to corrupt what the Order has taught you. A Jedi does not compromise.”

And just like that, Satele Shan has all but driven Katsulas straight into Scourge’s waiting grasp. She could not have done a better job of stoking Katsulas’s anger and resentment if she’d _tried to_. Berating Katsulas as though he’s a delinquent child will no longer work— the Jedi Council has no real power over him, and Katsulas is finally starting to realize that. Scourge can _feel_ him go cold with righteous indignation and fury.

Scourge manages not to smirk, but he _does_ roll his eyes as he makes a rotating motion in the air with one crossed arm, silently indicating that the Grandmaster should _get on with it_ and stop wasting their time with her Jedi drivel.

Satele frowns at him, but otherwise doesn't react. She is a practical woman, and it’s true that there are more important matters in need of their attention. “In any case,” she continues, recovering as gracefully as she can under the circumstances, “the Mystics are not your primary concern.”

Katsulas raises his eyebrows, unimpressed, but does not pursue the topic any further. He nods and says, “That would be Lord Fulminiss.” When Satele gives him a look of mild surprise, he adds, “Leeha Narezz mentioned he’d been deployed to Voss. Lord Scourge has told me a little about him.”

Satele does not look at Scourge, but she does give a nod of approval. “Good. We haven’t uncovered the Emperor’s plan to destroy Voss yet, but we know Fulminiss is the key. Stop him, and you stop the Emperor.”

“Until the next planet, anyway,” Katsulas mutters.

“Be wary,” Scourge cautions. “Lord Fulminiss created the Harrowers you faced on the Emperor’s Fortress.”

Katsulas turns slightly to stare at him, icy horror rolling off of him in waves. “He _made_ those?”

“He is the greatest Sith alchemist of his time, as I mentioned before,” Scourge says. And then it occurs to him that Katsulas might not actually know what Sith Alchemy _is_. After all, despite having spent three months learning the ways of the Sith, Katsulas doesn’t _remember_ any of his time on the Emperor’s Fortress, and it isn’t as though the _Jedi_ teach about such things. “The dark side has a power to corrupt life itself,” he explains patiently. “Fulminiss is a master at manipulating genetic mutations to create unimagined horrors.”

“How lovely,” Katsulas mutters.

Scourge notes with quiet satisfaction that when Katsulas looks back up at Satele Shan, he cannot meet her eyes for more than a second before he swallows and drops his gaze. Tension sharpens the lines of his body. Katsulas’s hand twitches up for a moment, as though he wants to tug on his side-braid, but he suppresses the motion in the Grandmaster’s presence.

She has, after all, just been reminded that until very recently, her Order’s treasured champion had been doing the Emperor’s bidding on Vitiate’s own personal Fortress. Even if she doesn’t truly fault Katsulas for his actions while under Vitiate’s thrall, Katsulas won’t be able to help believing otherwise. And _that_ is all Scourge needs.

“We don’t know Fulminiss’s exact location on Voss,” the Grandmaster says, moving straight to the point as though overlooking Katsulas’s distress will somehow lessen it. “But, several of our agents have discovered that he’s communicating with the Emperor through an encrypted communications relay. We’ve detected several signal scramblers outside the planet’s capital city of Voss-Ka. Disable them, and we can track the comm signal to his location.”

Scourge frowns. It’s a simple plan. Far too simple to actually be effective. Even if Lord Fulminiss is not yet aware of their presence or their intentions, he will be soon enough. Their raid on Korriban’s Flame is certain to have been reported by now, and if the Emperor is in communication with Lord Fulminiss…

Katsulas seems to have come to the same conclusion, as he points out: “Lord Fulminiss wouldn’t just leave those scramblers undefended.”

“The signal scramblers were hidden deep inside the savage Voss wilderness,” Satele replies unhelpfully. “Reaching them will be dangerous, even for a Jedi. If you act quickly, you can disable all of the scramblers before Fulminiss knows what’s happening—and then we can find him.”

Frustration surges through Katsulas, sharp and brittle, but he lets none of it show in his voice as he says, “Then there’s no time to waste. We will not fail, Master Satele. I will keep you informed as the situation allows.”

“May the Force be with you,” Satele says, and then the transmission cuts.

The tension slumps out of Katsulas's frame. He cards both hands through his hair and lets out a frustrated sigh. “Good to know I'll be getting reliable, helpful advice on how to deal with the Voss while on their sovereign planet, operating under their laws and customs,” he say sarcastically. “Fucking bullshit.”

“While I share your frustrations,” Scourge says, “remember that our only goal is to stop the Emperor's plans. We must not fail, with or _without_ the cooperation of the Voss. Everything else is secondary.”

Katsulas casts an irritated look at Scourge and crosses his arms over his chest. “Obviously. But I can tell you right now that it'll be a hell of a lot easier to do if we're working _with_ the Voss instead of against them. We don't need more opposition slowing us down.”

Unspoken is Katsulas's belief that working with the Voss and respecting their laws and customs is also the _right_ thing to do. But Scourge doesn't press the issue; Katsulas's logic is sound, after all. Scourge simply nods his head to concede the point, and follows Katsulas to the airlock.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It will be some time before I get around to writing Chapter 6, entirely because I've re-made Katsulas and am going through the Jedi Knight storyline again. I want to actually _re-play_ Voss before I write the next chapter, because Voss is a critical crossroads for Kat.
> 
> For those interested, I have a tumblr ( singing-hedgehog) where I occasionally talk about Kat in all of his different incarnations, among other things.


End file.
